


Victorious

by areyouarealmonster, ruthc93



Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV)
Genre: Doomworld AU, Implied abuse, M/M, We're sorry, eobard is a piece of shit, i'm sorry i'm so sorry, it's a lil messed up, this is kind of dark?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-05-12
Packaged: 2018-10-12 09:12:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10487328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/areyouarealmonster/pseuds/areyouarealmonster, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ruthc93/pseuds/ruthc93
Summary: Turns out, things get boring when you're a supervillain with nothing to rob. Leonard Snart's gonna find something to keep him occupied...That's where Ray Palmer comes in.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This started off as an idea bouncing around in my head that I was _not_ going to write, and then I got this tumblr prompt: _if you're still taking them: victorious by patd + the legends? any pairing you want, or no pairing_. Well, it just kind of fit. So here you go, I'm sorry. -Sarah
> 
> Content warning for the use of a slur.
> 
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> 
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> 
> **ETA 4/8/17: Victorious has had a few small edits, and a second chapter will be coming soon  
> **  
>  **ETA 5/5/17: Victorious has been edited again, a piece has been cut, and there is now a second chapter**

God, winning is so boring.

 

It’s like, when you’ve rewritten reality to be exactly the way you want it to be, what is there left to do? Len misses the _fun_.

 

Part of the joy in pulling off heists is the thrill, the rush, the worry that he might be caught at any second. It’s that feeling, deep in his chest, that he could be a step away from getting arrested, getting shot, getting killed.

 

Running Central City was always a dream of his, but now that he’s one of the heads of the criminal no-longer-underground, he’s fucking _bored_.

 

“Mick,” he says, definitely not in a whine, “can we rob a bank? Kidnap a senator? Something? Anything?”

 

Mick snorts. “Why, Snart? We don’t gotta do anything. We’re in charge, now.”

 

“Yeah, that’s the problem.” Len replies, still definitely not whining. “We don’t have to do anything, there’s nothing to do. I obviously don’t want to work, but I do want to be at least doing something.”

 

“Hmm,” Mick says, musing on it. “If you’re really that bored, I may have...an idea.”

 

“What?” Len asks, ears perking up.

 

Mick shrugs. “One of the Legends,” he starts. “You two had kind of a thing back on the ship.”

 

“A _thing_ , huh?” Len asks, curious. “Were we hooking up?”

 

“Nah,” Mick replies, shaking his head. “But you had a thing for him and I found out after you, uh, well after you died, that he had feelings for you too.”

 

Len’s curious. “Please don’t tell me it’s that fucking _historian_.”

 

“No, but it is the other nerd. Ray Palmer.”

 

“The tall one?” Len asks, thinking back to the church. “Hmm, he certainly seemed pretty from far away.”

 

“I know,” Mick responds with a smirk, “just your type. Tall, pretty, and nerdy.”

 

Len throws a book at him. It hits Mick square in the side of the head, but the man barely flinches. He’s used to Len throwing random shit at him, and plus, it was only a small paperback.

 

“I guess I could be persuaded to pick up some arm candy,” Len muses. “Plus, I’d like to stick it to the Legends more. This sounds like it might actually be _fun_.” Not quite a heist, but at least it’s something. Len feels the smirk growing on his face. “Where do I find this _Ray Palmer_?” Len asks.

 

“He’s a janitor at S.T.A.R. Labs,” Mick answers.

 

Len raises an eyebrow. “A janitor? _Really_?”

 

Mick nods. “You’ll just have to see him.”

 

“That hot, huh?”

 

“I mean, I guess,” Mick replies, shrugging. “You know I got no interest in that stuff, but I guess he is, uh, osthetic--”

 

“Aesthetically pleasing?” Len asks.

 

“Yeah, that one,” Mick says.

 

“Hmm.” Len mulls over the idea. At least it could be something to keep him occupied. Plus, if he gets a good fuck or two out of it, maybe a pretty boy to show off, well, that’s a plus. “Okay, I’ll give it a whirl. Thanks, Mick, you’re a true friend.”

 

Mick just grunts, and Len heads out, on a quest to find something, anything, to calm the restlessness coursing through his veins.

 

* * *

 

Ray is dancing. Not like dance-dancing, just swaying back and forth to the music playing over his headphones. It’s lunch for most of S.T.A.R. Labs, so the halls are empty, and Ray can enjoy himself a little more as he mops the floors.

 

It’s a wet spring day out, so the floors are covered with a thin layer of mud and muck. Ray doesn’t mind the extra work; it gives him something to focus on. It gives him something to be proud of, at the end of the day. _I made the floors shine_.

 

It’s not much, but it’s something.

 

So he’s bobbing his head and swaying back and forth a bit to whatever poppy tune his spotify station decided to play, and he wheels his cart right into someone.

 

“Oh my gosh,” Ray says, pulling out his headphones, “I am so sorry!” He looks up from the floor, and meets a pair of icy blue eyes, analyzing him with a sharp, intense stare.

 

“Ray Palmer?” the man asks, his voice smooth and buttery.

 

“Yeah, that’s me. Did I do something wrong?” Ray asks, suddenly worried.

 

“No,” the man says. “I was told I might find you here, is all.”

 

Ray lets out a small, nervous laugh. “You found me! Can I help you with something? Did you spill something and you need it cleaned up or…” He trails off, unsure of what to say in response to the continuing steady gaze.

 

“I have a proposition for you,” the man says. He pauses, as if he’s parsing out what to say next.

 

“What’s your proposition?” Ray asks, after a minute of silence, while the man _still_ stares at him.

 

“Do you know who I am?” he asks.

 

Ray cocks his head, looking more closely at the other man. He does look familiar but...oh. Oh. Oh, no. “You’re Leonard Snart,” he says, shocked. “You’re part of the group that runs this city.”

 

Snart smirks. “Got it in one,” he drawls. “Now, for my proposition…”

 

Ray waits, shifting his weight back and forth from foot to foot, unsure of what’s going to happen.

 

“What are you doing tonight?” Snart asks.

 

That’s not at all where Ray thought this was going, and he breathes a sigh of relief, before the words sink in and he realizes the implications. “Tonight?” he asks, his voice higher pitched than usual.

 

Snart just nods, waiting for a response.

 

“Wh--why?” Ray stammers out.

 

The smirk on Snart’s face grows, and Ray feels himself blushing. “You’re gorgeous and I’m bored,” he drawls, his eyes raking over Ray’s body. “There’s nothing left to do in Central City, and I need something to entertain me.”

 

Ray’s face is definitely bright red at this point, he thinks. “Um...I’m…” Ray shuts his mouth, taking a deep breath in through his nose. Why would Snart be interested in _him_? What is he not getting here? “What happens if I say no?" he asks, after a few moments of silence.

 

Snart shrugs. “I walk away.”

 

“And if I say yes?” Ray asks, with trepidation.

 

“If you say yes, I pick you up after your shift, and we see where things go from there,” Snart answers, and Ray isn’t sure if his expression is a smirk or a leer anymore.

 

“So you’re not, like, trying to buy me? Or, like threaten me to get me into bed?”

 

Snart laughs, low and vicious, and it hits Ray somewhere deep in his chest. “Where’s the fun in that?” he asks. “First of all, if I wanted to pay for sex, there are easier ways to go about it. Second, threatening someone to get them into bed takes all the _fun_ out of it.”

 

“Oh,” Ray says. He mulls it over, considering.

 

On the one hand, it would be stupid and dangerous and he shouldn’t even be thinking about saying yes. On the other hand…

 

Ray has always had a taste for adventure. Sure, he mostly deals with that urge by watching adventure movies and reading fast-paced novels that mostly take place in space, or with dragons. So, the prospect of an adventure here, in his actual life, even if it’s adventure with one of the criminals who run Central City, gives him a bit of a thrill.

 

And Snart is very attractive. The greying hair gives the man a distinguished look, and there’s intelligence behind those piercing eyes.

 

“Well?” Snart asks, after a pause. “I haven’t got all day, _Raymond_.”

 

“Ray,” Ray corrects automatically. “It’s just Ray.”

 

Snart raises an eyebrow. “Really?” he asks. “Are you sure?”

 

Ray nods. “Yeah, it's just Ray.”

 

“Okay,” Snart says. “I could call you _Ray_ .” He says the name in a clipped staccato, and it sounds harsh and sharp. “Or,” he continues, “I could call you _Raymond_.” This time he drawls the name out, smoothing it so it lingers on his tongue like hard candy.

 

Ray feels heat in the pit of his stomach, and his eyes widen. “Okay,” he says, swallowing hard, “Raymond it is.”

 

“Good boy,” Snart says, and Ray hates to admit how good those two words feel. “So, is that a yes?”

 

Ray nods. He tries to play it cool, but he’s pretty sure he just looks like a dork.

 

Snart grins, feral and wide. “What time should I pick you up, then?”

 

“I get off at six,” Ray says, “but I should probably change out of this,” he picks at the coveralls, “before you, uh, pick me up. So, six fifteen? Six thirty if you think I should shower--”

 

“Six thirty it is,” Snart says, cutting him off. “I’ll be outside.”

 

“Um, okay,” Ray says, and watches Snart turn and walk away. “See you then!” he calls after Snart’s retreating form. No acknowledgement comes from the other man.

 

What the heck has he just gotten himself into, he wonders, as he pushes his cart into the next hallway to start cleaning. Regardless of that, he’s behind schedule now. He’ll have to work fast to catch up if he doesn’t want to get yelled at by his supervisor.

 

This may be the stupidest thing he’s ever done. But there’s a niggling feeling at the back of his skull that keeps telling him, _maybe you’re meant for something else_.

 

Maybe you’re meant for something greater.

 

This may not be greater, but at least it’s something _else_. Something to break up the monotony, the boredom, the feeling that he’s not where he’s supposed to be.

 

At the very least, at least he’ll get to stare into those gorgeous eyes for a while. That’s enough, right?

 

Ray puts his headphones back in, but he doesn’t dance to the music. He just works, steady and methodical, for the rest of his shift.

 

* * *

 

Six thirty on the dot, and Len pulls back up to S.T.A.R. Labs. Most of the nine-to-fivers have already gone home, and there are only a few last-minute stragglers wandering out of the building.

 

Raymond rushes out of the front door, his hair still damp, pulling a cardigan on as he walks. He catches sight of Len, leaning against the passenger side of his car, and stops dead for a second. Then he seemingly shakes himself and continues forward, approaching the car.

 

“Mr. Snart,” Raymond stammers out, and Len rolls his eyes.

 

“ _Please_ ,” he says, “it’s just Len.”

 

Raymond nods, quick and, Len has to admit, cute. “I wasn’t sure you were actually going to be here.”

 

“I keep my promises, Raymond,” Len says, and opens the passenger side door with a sweeping gesture.

 

Raymond gets in, and Len shuts the door behind him, walking around to the driver’s side.

 

“I thought you might have, like, a personal driver,” Raymond says as Len gets in and turns the car on.

 

Len chuckles. “I do,” he admits, “but I don’t need her for this.”

 

“Oh.” Raymond is quiet for a minute as Len pulls out of the parking lot. “Where are we going?” he asks, as they turn onto a main street.

 

“My place,” Len says.

 

“Can we get dinner, first?” Raymond asks. “I’m _starving_.”

 

Len glances over, briefly, before fixing his eyes back on the road. He’s not really interested in turning this into a _date_. On the other hand, pretty boy might have more stamina if he’s fed. There’s a lot of him to feed, Len notes, his ridiculously long legs stuck at weird angles even in the roomy front seat of Len’s fancy car.

 

They stop at a light, and Len turns his head, stares at Raymond until a blush rises on the other man’s cheeks. Yeah, food can wait.

 

“We can always order food when we get to my place,” Len lies, as the light changes. He sees Raymond nod out of the corner of his eye.

 

“Okay, sounds good!” Raymond says, his voice slightly too breathy.

 

“Are you nervous, Raymond?” Len asks.

 

Raymond swallows. “Yes,” he admits. “This is kind of, uh, _wild_ for me.”

 

“You mean to tell me you don’t always get into cars with criminal overlords after they proposition you for sex in the middle of your work day?” Len asks, sarcastically. “Raymond, I’m shocked. I thought this was an everyday occurrence for you.”

 

His comments succeed in making Raymond laugh, even if it sounds partially nervous. It’s still a nice laugh, and Len smiles to himself. This oughta be fun.

 

He pulls up to the fancy apartment building he’s claimed, and Raymond’s eyes bug out.

 

“Woah,” he says, “you live here?”

 

Len laughs. “I take it you live in _squalor_. Of course I live here, I run this damn city. I can live anywhere. I have the penthouse; I like to be in the center of things, to watch the city run.”

 

“Cool,” Raymond breathes, and lets Len lead him inside and up to the top floor in the private elevator.

 

Len takes great care to keep his hands to himself, all the way up to his apartment. It’s not easy, especially with Raymond shifting and blushing and staring at the base of the elevator doors like he could bore a hole in them with his eyes.

 

The doors do finally slide open, and Raymond all but stumbles out into Len’s grand foyer. It’s not the same type of luxury the other Legion members chose--some of them wanted mansions, some of them wanted dungeons. Len just wanted the view. Well, and a dash of extravagance.

 

Len is nothing if not extravagant.

 

He watches Raymond spin in a slow circle, mouth open, taking it all in. Len hasn’t really had time to make it his own, but it’s getting there.

 

“I would have expected gold,” Raymond says, finally.

 

Len laughs. “That’s my sister’s thing. I prefer silver. In decorations, at least. For cashing out, nothing beats gold. But I find too much gold...tacky. And I may be many things, but I should hope tacky is not one of them.”

 

Raymond shakes his head. “This is definitely not tacky. It’s gorgeous,” he says, finally meeting Len’s eyes, “you have a lovely home.”

 

“Thank you,” Len says, inclining his head slightly, holding Raymond’s gaze. Raymond squirms, but holds his ground, doesn’t look away. Even with a blush seemingly permanently stuck on his face by this point, there’s a hard determination in his eyes that only intrigues Len more.

 

“What now?” Raymond asks, his voice quiet but steady.

 

Len strides forward, closes the distance, catches Raymond’s mouth in a harsh, fast kiss. Raymond responds eagerly, hands coming up to slip inside Len’s jacket, pushing it off his shoulders and onto the floor.

 

“So, I take it food is not happening right now,” Raymond says breathlessly, gasping against Len’s lips.

 

“Smart boy,” Len says, curling his fingers through Raymond’s belt loops and dragging him into the bedroom. Raymond follows willingly, stumbling forward with his hands cupping Len’s face, holding it steady so they can keep kissing.

 

They get into the bedroom, and Len starts working on the buttons of Raymond’s shirt. It should be easy, but he keeps getting distracted by all the sensations: Raymond’s hands, large and warm, running up and down his back; Raymond’s mouth, pressing sloppy kisses across his jaw and down his neck; Raymond’s cock hard against his own.

 

Len gives up on the buttons and steps back. “Take your clothes off,” he orders, reveling in Raymond’s swollen lips, blown pupils, and the _very_ large bulge in his jeans.

 

Raymond finishes unbuttoning his shirt, tossing it and his cardigan off in one fluid motion. He hesitates briefly with the tanktop he's wearing underneath, but then pulls it over his head as well. Len notices a few bruises at various stages of healing, scattered across his torso. The man doesn't seem clumsy, so Len files it away to consider later. Raymond's hands go to his belt but he stills, looking over at Len. “Are you gonna, um,” he stammers, “are you gonna take yours off, too?”

 

“Of course I am,” Len answers, rolling his eyes. He starts to pull his sweater off, and then pauses as well, catching Raymond’s eyes watching him do so. “I have one rule, Raymond,” he says, his voice as sharp as he can make it through his slight breathlessness. “Do not ask about my scars.”

 

“Scars?” Raymond asks, like a moron. “What--”

 

“What did I _just say_ , Raymond?”

 

Raymond swallows. “Don’t ask about the scars. Sorry, I won’t.”

 

“Good,” Len says, and tosses off his sweater and shirt, letting them fall to the floor. He only stands there for a second before Raymond steps forward, meeting his lips again. “Raymond,” he gasps between passionate kisses, “pants, off.”

 

Raymond complies. He doesn’t remove his mouth from Len’s, but he still unbuttons and pushes his pants and underwear off to step out of them. And, oh god, Len has to step back and take a second, because Raymond is _huge_.

 

“ _Fuck_ ,” he says, reverently. Raymond ducks his head, rubbing at the back of his neck with a hand.

 

“Yeah, um, so...there’s that.”

 

He sounds somewhat embarrassed, and Len almost laughs at him. Len holds back, just barely, and only because he wouldn’t enjoy it if anyone laughed when seeing _him_ naked for the first time.

 

So instead, Len pushes Raymond down onto the bed. He takes his own pants off, and climbs into bed after the other man. _God_ , Raymond is gorgeous, with far more amazing muscles than Len had expected to find under those janitor’s coveralls. He’s pliable, too, and so, so sensitive as Len discovers when he nips gently at Raymond’s neck.

 

Len _almost_ wants to take things slow, to get his mouth on that gorgeous cock, to feel those soft lips around his own. Almost.

 

At least he’s already decided that this isn’t going to be the only time _this_ happens. Raymond is far too gorgeous, far too addicting, far too sexy, and Len just wants all of him, all at once, right now.

 

He reaches over to the bedside table, pulls out lube and a condom and drops them on the bed next to Raymond’s hips. Raymond stills beneath him.

 

“If you’re not ready, we can do other things,” Len offers, reading anxiety into Raymond’s freeze-up. He wants this, but he wants Raymond to enjoy it. Otherwise, it’s no fun at all.

 

But Raymond shakes his head. “It’s, well, been a while. That’s all.”

 

“In general?” Len asks, curious. “Or with another man?”

 

“Um,” Raymond blushes even harder, which Len didn’t think was possible at this point. “In general. I mean, I also haven’t been with a guy in a while but, uh…” His voice trails off, leaving Len to guess at his meaning.

 

“But you’ve been pegged by a previous girlfriend?” Len asks, smirking.

 

Raymond’s expression is all he needs to know he’s right, but Raymond confirms it anyway. “Not just one,” he admits, back to not meeting Len’s eyes.

 

“Mmm,” Len says, grabbing Raymond’s chin and forcing the man to meet his eyes. “ _Good_. So, you want this?” he asks, trying to make it seem nonchalant. Trying to make it seem like he’s not now so desperate for this that he might lose his mind.

 

Raymond nods, fast and short, and Len leans down, grinning into another kiss. He keeps this one short, and as he pulls back, he orders Raymond to turn over, onto his stomach. Raymond does as he is told, which earns him another, “Good boy,” muttered under Len’s breath.

 

Len twists open the lube, pouring a healthy amount on his hand, coating his fingers with it.

 

“You ready?” he asks, pressing his mouth against one of Raymond’s shoulder-blades.

 

“Yes,” Raymond breathes, and Len barely lets the word hang in the air before he’s pushing a finger inside. “Oh,” Raymond says, tensing up, and the immediately apologizing for it.

 

“Shh,” Len says, “relax.”

 

Raymond takes a deep breath, and his muscles unclench.

 

“Mmm, good,” Len murmurs, moving his finger in and out for a bit, before adding in another finger. He gives Raymond time to adjust before moving again. Raymond starts moaning, low and deep, and Len’s cock twitches.

 

When Raymond’s noises start to subside, Len inserts a third finger, and the moaning picks right back up when he does.

 

“Oh, god,” Raymond groans. “ _Please_ ,” he begs.

 

That’s all that Len needs to hear to know that Raymond is ready. He pulls his fingers out and tears open the condom wrapper, rolling it on. Then he lines himself up and pushes in, slowly, reveling in the whimpers coming out of Raymond’s mouth. And, god, does it feel good.

 

It’s been a while for Len, too, not that he’d ever admit it. Raymond feels amazing, hot and slick around his cock.

 

He’d meant to start things slow, but it feels too good. So he picks up the pace, one hand on Raymond’s shoulder as leverage. Raymond braces himself on one elbow, occasionally reaching back with his other hand to stroke himself before he falls forward again, keening.

 

Usually, Len’s partners have been stoic, used to keeping quiet during sex. Raymond’s noises are a revelation, and Len swears he’s gonna tell any and all future partners to make as much noise as they want.

 

_If you have any future partners_ , a voice at the back of his head says, unbidden. He tells the voice to shut up, and refocuses on Raymond.

 

“Oh, god,” Raymond says again, punctuated with each thrust of Len’s hips.

 

“Does that feel good, Raymond?” Len asks, trying to still sound seductive and chill, even though he’s fast reaching his breaking point.

 

“Yes, oh yes,” Raymond moans. “Oh, _fuck_ , I’m gonna come.” He reaches his hand back again to stroke himself, and Len _feels_ before he sees Raymond come, Raymond’s muscles clenching up around his cock.

 

“Shit,” Len grunts, and comes as well, thrusting a final few times into Raymond before collapsing on top of the other man.

 

He immediately rolls off, panting hard. “ _Fuck_ ,” he says, “that was good.”

 

Raymond lifts up slightly so he can turn his head to face Len. “Yeah?” he asks, his body rising and falling with each heaving breath.

 

“Mmm,” Len says. “You did good, pretty boy.”

 

Raymond’s grin takes him by surprise. It lights up the man’s face, in a way that sets Len’s heart aflutter. _Stop that_ , he orders himself. _It’s just sex_. He feels himself smiling back, though. It’s small and weak, but it’s still a smile. He can always blame it on the orgasm later.

 

“So,” Raymond asks, after smiling sweetly at Len for a minute, “what now?”

 

_Dopey_ , Len tells himself, not _sweet_.

 

“Weren’t you starving, just a little while ago?” Len asks, laughter creeping into his voice.

 

“Oh yeah,” Raymond responds, and actually does laugh. “I forgot.”

 

Len shakes his head as he sits up. “How do you forget you’re hungry?”

 

Raymond shrugs. “Happens to me all the time. I don’t know, I get distracted. _This_ ,” he gestures between himself and Len, “was very distracting.”

 

“Damn right,” Len mutters, peeling himself out of bed. “I’m gonna shower. You good here for a minute?”

 

“Yeah,” Raymond says. “I’ll just lie here, catch my breath.”

 

Len lets himself enjoy his shower, not worrying about Raymond getting into his things. That boy is far too innocent to steal anything, even if Len actually kept anything he _cared about_ out in the open where anyone could grab it. His cold gun, his most prized possession, is locked up behind a safe that even _he_ might have trouble cracking. Well, not that he’s a master safe cracker. Still, it’s very well hidden.

 

He stretches out, reaching up to the ceiling, his muscles feeling loose and warm. _Damn_ , that felt good. It’s been awhile since he’s had sex, but an even longer time since he’s had sex that felt so amazing. And it was only their first time. It’s bound to get even better if they continue, which Len sure as hell wants to.

 

Even if he now probably has to take Raymond on a fucking date.

 

He sighs, and turns the water off. Might as well get dressed and get this over with. He’s hungry now, too, at the very least.

 

In the walk-in closet adjacent to the bathroom, he picks out something vaguely nice, but still casual. It’s not like he’s trying to impress anyone. Especially not someone who just saw him naked. It’s just dinner, and Len’s sure that Raymond can chatter his way through any situation, so it’s not like things will be awkward and silent.

 

Plus, Len runs Central City. Well, co-runs. Whatever. He can live through a dinner with a gorgeous man.

 

He steps back out into the bedroom, and sees that Raymond is still naked on the bed. He raises an eyebrow at the other man, who just shrugs.

 

“Why put clothes on if I’m just gonna shower?” Raymond posits, and Len has to admit that it’s a good point.

 

“Well, shower’s yours,” he says, and Raymond grins at him, jumping up and bounding into the bathroom like an overexcited puppy.

 

Len shakes his head and wanders out into the rest of his apartment, heading to the kitchen for a glass of water. He stops dead, a few steps in, when he catches sight of Mick, sitting on the couch with his feet (still in shoes) propped up on the coffee table.

 

“Get your fucking feet off my table,” Len says, stalking over. “What the fuck are you doing here?” he demands, as Mick decidedly does not move his feet.

 

“Came by to talk plans, didn’t realize you had company.” Mick doesn’t look up from the magazine he’s got in front of his face, but Len doesn’t believe he’s actually reading from it. He thinks Mick’s just being an asshole.

 

“Did you--” Len pauses, pissed off. He takes a deep breath and continues, calmer. “Were you here when--”

 

“Yup,” Mick says. “I was about to knock but then I heard, well, _noises_. Your room is pretty well soundproofed, though, I’ll give you that.” Len glares and Mick laughs. “What? Hey, I didn’t think you’d move this quickly, Snart.”

 

Len shrugs. “I was really bored.”

 

“I can tell,” Mick says, laughing.

 

“Look, Mick, I'm kinda in the middle of this. Do you really need to talk to me now?”

 

Mick looks up at that, slightly startled. “In the middle?” he asks. “Sounded like you two were done.”

 

Len rolls his eyes. “Pretty boy wants me to take him to dinner.”

 

“And you're actually gonna?” Mick asks, chuckling.

 

“I'm hungry,” Len replies, shrugging.

 

“Alright.” Mick lifts his feet off the coffee table, sets them on the floor and stands up. “I'll leave you to it, then.”

 

He walks out, leaving Len slightly confused. Mick often drops by without warning, but something about this time had felt...off.

 

There's no time to dwell on it, because Raymond walks out into the room, hair damp yet again from another shower.

 

“Dinner?” the oversized puppy asks, with a hopeful smile.

 

“Yeah, dinner,” Len responds, and they walk out of the apartment together.

 

* * *

 

Len leads Ray to a nice Thai restaurant around the corner from his apartment.

 

“Another reason I love living in the middle of the city,” Len tells him. “There are a million options for food, drinks, whatever you want.”

 

Ray nods. He gets it; he still lives in the city, even if it’s not in the best part of town, and even if the only places around him are dive bars and greasy pizza places. Still, there are options.

 

It’s a short walk, but Ray still has to stop himself from reaching out and trying to take Len’s hand. Even if it’s dark out, Ray doesn’t think Len would appreciate it. After all, Len has made it very clear that they’re not _dating_. So Ray shoves his hands in his pockets, to stop himself from reaching out.

 

He can’t help being a very tactile person, but he can tell that Len isn’t, from the way Len had rolled off him immediately after sex. There had been decidedly _no_ cuddling, and Ray won’t pretend he isn’t sad about it. Len was warm and soft, and Ray would have loved to snuggle up to him, even for only a few minutes. The way the other man had shifted away, though, left nothing up to debate.

 

At least the sex had been good. Really good, in fact. Even if it hadn’t been particularly _intimate_ ; Ray usually likes to actually look at his partners, but he’d wanted to please Len, so he did what he was told. At least Len had paid attention to Ray’s pleasure, that was a nice change from some of Ray’s former partners.

 

“Raymond,” Len says, interrupting Ray’s train of thought. “We’re here.”

 

“Oh, right,” Ray says, feeling sheepish. He’d been lost in his own head, and he’d lost track of where they were.

 

They walk inside and are immediately greeted by the hostess. “Welcome, Mr. Snart,” she says, with a bright smile that Ray can tell is only partially fake. He’s worked in customer service, he knows those fake smiles. This one is partially fake, but that also means it’s partially real.  “Your usual table?” the hostess asks, and Len nods.

 

“Yes, thank you, Panamai,” Len responds, and the hostess, Panamai, leads them to a table in the far corner. Len sits with his back to the wall, and Ray looks around, noting that from here, Len can see the whole restaurant.

 

“Your waiter will be over soon,” Panamai says, handing them menus and walking back to the front.

 

Ray looks over the menu, trying to not find the silence between him and Len awkward or weird. They just got there, they’re deciding what to eat, it’s _not weird_. It’s not weird that they just had sex, not half an hour ago. Not even a little bit.

 

“Relax,” Len mutters, not looking up from his menu. “You’re stressing me out.”

 

“Sorry!” Ray apologizes. “Is this weird?” he asks, unable to keep his mouth shut for one more second.

 

Len looks up, an eyebrow raised. “Why would it be weird? _You_ wanted me to take you to dinner. I’m taking you to dinner. This is what you wanted, Raymond.”

 

Oh, yeah. True. Ray gives Len a sheepish smile. “Sorry, I guess I’m a little nervous.”

 

“To be seen in public with me?” Len asks.

 

Ray shakes his head. “That you’ll, I don’t know, realize you made a mistake with me?” he says, turning it into a question at the end. After all, he’s just a janitor. Even if Len thinks he’s good-looking, that’s gotta get boring after a while. Ray’s nothing special, and he thinks Len would want someone who has amounted to something, anything, in their life.

 

“I didn’t make a mistake, Raymond,” Len says, his voice surprisingly soft. The waiter comes over, then, and the moment passes. The cold seeps back into Len’s voice, and Ray isn’t sure if he’d imagined any different intonations. He’s probably just reading into it.

 

“Can I start you off with anything to drink?” the waiter asks after pouring them glasses of water. Len orders them a bottle of wine, without consulting Ray. It’s apparently red, though, so Ray isn’t going to complain, but he’s pretty sure the bottle would cost him half his paycheck.

 

“And I think we’re ready to order,” Len says, glancing at Ray, who nods.

 

The waiter takes their order and leaves them alone. Now there’s nothing but empty air between them.

 

Ray opens his mouth to start chattering nervously when someone approaches the table. Ray looks up into the eyes of a large man.

 

“Snart!” the man says, grinning so wide that it has to be fake.

 

“Geo,” Len says, disdain clear in his voice.

 

“Fancy seeing you here,” Geo says, his voice booming through the restaurant.

 

Len glares up at him, not amused. “Everyone knows that I come here for dinner on a regular basis. What do you want?”

 

Geo’s false grin falters, only for a second. “I see you’ve got company, wanted to see if there was a new player in town.”

 

Uh-oh. Ray’s presence might mess something up. He should never have asked Len to take him to dinner. But Len is calm when he meets Ray’s eyes, sure and steady. Ray tries to quelch his panic, taking subtle deep breaths through his nose.

 

“Not a new player, Geo, just a date,” Len says, reaching out and grabbing hold of Ray’s wrist. His fingers dig into Ray’s skin, a slight hint past gentle, and he rubs his thumb in what looks like a light touch over Ray’s skin. It is not light, and Ray bites the inside of his cheek to keep from wincing at the scratch of Len’s thumbnail against his wrist.

 

Geo’s eyes widen, and his fake smile disappears. “Didn’t know you were a faggot, Snart,” he mutters, and Ray goes cold. In a split second, Len is out of his chair, a gun that Ray had no idea he had been carrying pressed against Geo’s chest.

 

“I’m sorry,” Len says, his voice soft and deadly as a pit of vipers, “what did you just say?”

 

Geo tries to struggle, but Len digs his fingers into the man’s shoulder and cocks the gun.

 

“I’ll ask again,” Len says, voice still soft, “what did you call me?”

 

“N-nothing,” Geo stutters.

 

Len grins, and it’s possibly the scariest expression Ray has ever seen. There’s no warmth in his eyes, just a cold, dead, wasteland. Ray should be terrified, he really should be. This is the man he’d just had sex with, after all. But he’s not terrified, he feels conflicted; and what kind of person does that make him?

 

“Okay,” Len says, sliding the gun up and over until it’s pressing against Geo’s shoulder, instead of his heart. “That’s your first strike.”

 

He pulls the trigger.

 

The sound cracks through the silent restaurant, quickly followed by Geo’s screams. Len just steps coolly back, shaking out his arm. “Hmm,” he muses, “haven’t shot a real gun in a while. Kickback’s a bitch.” Two police officers come running in and Len gestures at the bleeding man, now curled up on the ground. “Get him out of my sight,” he orders.

 

And, well, Len runs the city. The police officers do as they’re told, with barely a glance at Len.

 

Really, seriously, what the hell has Ray gotten himself into?

 

He’s about to say that this is too much, that this isn’t what he signed up for, that he’s just gonna go, when Len sits back down and meets Ray’s eyes.

 

For a split second, Ray sees abject misery flash across Len’s face. He sees pain, written clear as day across Len’s face. And then Len shakes himself, and the moment passes. His face goes smooth as glass. But Ray saw what he saw.

 

“Mr. Snart,” Panamai starts, coming back up to the table, but Len doesn’t let her finish. He looks up at her with a forced smile.

 

“I apologize for the scene,” he says. “Let me pay for everyone’s dinners,” he offers, gesturing around at the terrified diners. “And, of course, bill me for any cleanup that needs to be done.”

 

Ray carefully does not look down at the pool of blood he knows is sinking into the rug.

 

Panamai sighs. “Mr. Snart, you know this does not reflect well on us. I would appreciate if you could refrain from shooting anyone else while you are dining here.”

 

Len nods. “I will do my best in the future.” Panamai turns to walk away but Len stops her. “But if something like this happens again, I can’t make any promises. I don’t allow _slurs_ in my city,” he says, his voice harsher than usual.

 

She just nods in response, and walks quickly away.

 

That leaves Ray and Len to look at each other.

 

“I’m sorry,” Len says, after a long pause. “That was probably, uh, ill-advised.”

 

Ray studies his face. It’s calm again, his eyes clear and steady. But Ray remembers the pain he’d seen, the agony. “You’ve been called that before,” he says, and is rewarded for his powers of observation by Len’s eyes widening slightly. It’s a subtle thing, but Ray’s watching for them now; subtle shifts and clues that Len isn’t the big bad he’s been made out to be.

 

“My father,” Len admits, his voice so quiet that Ray has to strain to hear it. “I’m not straight and I’m not white,” Len says, a slight bit louder, “and I've had a lot of slurs thrown at me. If someone is gonna say something like that, I _will_ punish them for it.”

 

“I understand,” Ray says, leaning forward to take Len’s hand. Len looks up at him in surprise.

 

“You do?” he asks, his eyes roaming across Ray’s face, examining Ray’s expression.

 

Ray nods. “I probably would’ve just punched him, but I also don’t own a gun, so…” Ray trails off as Len starts laughing. It’s a lovely noise, and Ray just wants to curl up inside it.

 

“You’re nothing like what I’d expected,” Len says, when he stops laughing.

 

“You’re nothing like what I’d expected, either,” Ray says, right as the food arrives. Both of them lose their trains of thought, as they dig into their delicious dinners.


	2. A Losing Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Len and Ray have to deal with the fallout of their little _arrangement_ , and Eobard enjoys sticking his grimy little hands in to gum up the works.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to Sarah for trusting me enough to write for this verse she's created. -Ruth

Eobard isn't usually easily amused, but this entire situation has made his mood way better than he possibly could have hoped for.

 

He watches the car outside S.T.A.R. Labs pull away and head in the direction of Leonard Snart’s penthouse. There they go again. Nonstop, everyday, for the past two weeks. Eobard is almost impressed.

 

What makes it all so much more entertaining is that Raymond clearly thinks he's getting away with it, clearly believes that Eobard doesn't know, clearly clings on to this arrangement he had struck up with Leonard as some sort of _escape_.

 

It's so laughable that it's almost _cute_.

 

Of course Eobard knows. He had known since day two, when Raymond arrived at S.T.A.R. Labs with much more energy and a bounce in his step, something Eobard remembers seeing in the Raymond who had been stuck on the moon with him. The one who had looked at him without fear or judgement. It's one of the first things Eobard had made sure to wipe away in this new reality.

 

It's evident in the way Raymond lets Eobard's words and actions wash over him now, showing less reaction to the games he plays with him, showing more endurance and patience. How the call of _Raymond_ doesn’t make him flinch anymore, how there's now a new spark of determination in his eyes, and how he clocks out of work with a smile on his face.

 

It’s _obvious_ , and Eobard muses over how the overgrown pet hasn’t seemed to notice these changes himself.

 

Ah, well, let him have his fun. Let him live in that bubble of oblivious bliss for a little while, Eobard thinks as he retreats from the window. It’ll be that much more fun when it all inevitably comes crashing down on him, and Eobard will make sure to be there when that happens. Maybe he’ll even cause it himself.

 

As time goes on, Eobard begins taking enjoyment in tweaking the stakes and severity of how he toys with Raymond, upping them in small, indistinguishable levels and giving no rhyme or reason for it, leaving behind new bruises and the occasional scar every other day for Leonard to find. He can see the confusion and panic in those brown eyes when the rules change, and the pathetic apologies and pleas that stream out from him while trying to adjust delights Eobard to no end.

 

How much more can he push this? How long will it take for it to be too much? How long will it take for Leonard to put two and two together? He undoubtedly will; Leonard Snart is many things, but he certainly isn't an _idiot_ , unlike the Legends, unlike Raymond. How will he react? All questions worth exploring, honestly, and Eobard does so with interest.

 

At his core, Eobard is still a scientist, after all.

 

It takes twelve days, which honestly is sooner than he had expected, for Leonard to show up in his office under the guise of talking over city plans.

 

Not that they don't talk about city plans. They do, and Eobard takes the chance to use his powers to take a closer look at his co-owner of Central City. There seems to be coiled energy in him--his muscles are clearly more tense than they usually are. His expression is carefully neutral, with the occasional trademark smirk, but Eobard has lived through enough to be able to see the guard and disdain seeping through. Is Leonard actually angry at him? Interesting.

 

The meeting ends with them agreeing to split control over various new landmarks, and Eobard waits patiently for the question to come.

 

“One of the Legends, the one you made into a janitor,” Leonard finally says, voice seemingly nonchalant, “what have you been doing to him?”

 

He feigns innocence and surprise. “Raymond? What makes you think I've been doing anything to him?” he prods.

 

There's no response, but Eobard sees a sudden glint of rage in his eyes that vanishes as soon as it appears.

 

 _Very_ interesting.

 

Clearly his facade has been seen through. With nothing to lose, Eobard decides to lay out his cards.

 

“What,” he says with a smile, “has he been moaning in pain more than pleasure lately?”

 

The reaction is immediate. He watches as Leonard's eyes widen and his entire body stiffen, and can't help letting his smile grow wider. Everything is playing out just as he imagined.

 

“Couldn’t satisfy your greed in this brave new world, could you? It’s not enough with your father gone, your sister safe, and half the city at your command. You had to go and find some more _excitement_ ,” he continues, still taking in every detail displayed before him carefully, “but I have to admit, I see the reasoning behind your little arrangement. I get the appeal. I might have considered it a few times myself.”

 

There's a growl that isn't all that unexpected. “How long have you known?”

 

Eobard laughs. “Since the beginning, really. It's hard to miss, especially with how he's been so _eager_ to get off work, more so than usual.”

 

He welcomes the glare, and only meets it with another smile.

 

“What have you been doing to him?” Leonard repeats, anger now clear in his tone, “what sadistic game have you been playing that leaves his entire _side_ covered in bruises?”

 

Eobard meets his eyes calmly. “What is it to you what I do to him? I seem to recall you saying that you have no interest in what happens to any of them as long as they’re kept alive, along with your partner. Don’t tell me you’ve had a change of heart just because you had _sex_ with one.”

 

Leonard sets his jaw, and Eobard gives him time to think of how to answer. When no answer comes, he pushes further. “You wouldn't actually be starting to _care_ for him, now would you?”

 

That gets him a reaction. “Of course not,” Leonard spits out, a bit too harsh and fast, Eobard thinks triumphantly. There’s so much to glean from those three words, and he wonders if the other man is aware of that.

 

“Good,” he says anyway as he files today's results away for further analysis and future use, “he’s really not worth the effort.” Well then, as fun as this has been, he still has a claim to stake.

 

“Let me make one thing very clear, Leonard.” He barely gives the man time to react, and he’s speeding towards him in a burst of red lightning, stopping just short of Leonard’s face. To his credit, Leonard doesn’t flinch, but his hand immediately draws upon his trademark weapon that’s strapped to his thigh, which Eobard stops all too easily with a hand firm around his wrist.

 

“Raymond is _my pet_. I'm simply lending him to you.” He doesn't miss the way the other's eyes narrow at that. “I'll let you have your fun, you can use him however you want, but make no mistake, ultimately, he belongs to _me_. I _will_ do with him as I see fit, and you should be grateful that I’m not going to break your arm for _touching_ him.”

 

There’s a fire burning in Leonard’s eyes, and the man scowls. Rage and frustration are radiating off of him in waves, but Eobard knows he has won. Both of them know who has the advantage here, and Eobard is certain that Leonard wouldn’t do anything stupid.

 

The hand that’s caught in his hold slackens by a margin, a silent and subtle admit to defeat. Eobard gives him a smile before letting go and stepping back to lean against the counter behind him. “If you have nothing else to say, I think we’re done here.”

 

Leonard glares at him, but doesn’t say anything. Then quickly he turns on his heels and storms away, no doubt even more enraged by what little he could do. All the while, Eobard notes that his hand is still wrapped tightly around the handle of the cold gun.

 

“I’ll have him ready for you for tonight,” he calls after the retreating figure, and laughs to himself when the other man picks up his pace and disappears around the corner.

 

So _predictable_.

 

He waits until he sees Leonard leaving the premises of the building from the monitors in his office, then Eobard heads out into the halls. He has to make good on his promise, after all.

 

Raymond isn't at any of his usual posts. He'd changed his routine again, Eobard notes. A fruitless effort, of course, he'll always be able to find his pet. But it does make for an amusing game of hide-and-seek.

 

Finally he finds Raymond alone in one of the spare labs with his back to the door, listening to music with his ever-present earphones and swaying a little to the tune as he mops the floor. Eobard crosses his arms in front of his chest and waits at the doorway, watching the pet work.

 

It takes a full minute for Raymond to turn around and finally see him.

 

Immediately he freezes, and his eyes grow wide. “M-Mr. Thawne,” he stutters as he frantically pulls out his earphones and stuffs them away in his pocket. Then he ducks his head, obscuring his face with the brim of the S.T.A.R. Labs cap, “I-I'm sorry, I didn't notice you.”

 

Eobard hums. Then he walks forward, and with each step he can see Raymond shrinking in on himself, his grip on the mop so tight that his knuckles turn white, and ever so slightly, there's a tremor running through his entire body.

 

Oh, Eobard is going to miss this. But he already made a decision, and he intends on following through with it.

 

Closing the last bit of distance between them, he steps up to the pet, reaching out and taking his chin in his fingers, and relishes in the way Raymond’s entire body _jerks_ violently at the simple touch.

 

He is definitely going to miss this, he thinks as he forces the terrified brown eyes to meet his gaze. Then he smiles.

 

“Have a good day, Raymond,” Eobard says as he lightly pats his cheek, and watches as the terror in those eyes turn into shock and disbelief and finally morph into confusion.

 

He withdraws completely. Without wasting another second, he turns around and walks away, leaving Raymond alone to try and make sense of what just happened.

 

Later that day, as six-thirty pm rolls around, Eobard watches from the second floor of the building as Leonard appears to pick up an eagerly awaiting Raymond. He watches Leonard’s eyes run over the pet, checking for damage, and sees the wariness mixed with relief in his body language when he can't find any.

 

Raymond disappears into the car, and just before Leonard gets in from the other side, the man looks up, and meets Eobard's eyes.

 

Eobard smiles at him. _See? I can play nice if you play nice,_ he tells him.

 

Leonard sharpens his gaze into a glare, then ducks into the driver's seat and all but slams the door shut behind him.

 

Eobard laughs as he watches the car drive away. He knows that his message had gotten across to Leonard.

 

All he has to do now, is wait.

 

* * *

 

Ray doesn’t know what’s going on anymore.

 

The rules changing--those he understands. Mr. Thawne likes to shake up the equation every now and then, to keep things interesting, to keep things _fun_ , and Ray has always been able to adjust. Once he gets through the initial panic, he’s able to play by the new rules, to give himself a sense of direction, and work to make sure he stays within the boundaries of those new rules.

 

So what happens when the rules simply… vanish?

 

It doesn’t go well. Not for Ray.

 

The first time it happens he takes it in stride, deciding to chalk it up to Mr. Thawne being in a _weird_ mood--not a good mood or a bad mood, neither of those end well for Ray--and count it as one of the rare days where he can catch a break.

 

He’d been happier that day. When Len came to pick him up he even felt energized, glad that he’s able to let the bruises that are still aching heal. He’d been grateful.

 

But then it continues.

 

Mr. Thawne doesn’t touch him, doesn’t play his games, sometimes doesn’t even see him for the entire day. Two days. Three days. Four days. Day after day goes by and nothing happens.

 

And it’s driving Ray _insane_.

 

Because he knows Mr. Thawne. Mr. Thawne wouldn’t just stop out of goodwill. He’s planning something, he has to be, and Ray grows more and more paranoid as each day passes, waiting for the dam to break, the wall to crack, the bomb to drop, _something_ to happen, because it has to.

 

It has to, or else what has he been enduring for the past 8 months?

 

He finds himself wishing that Mr. Thawne hasn’t stopped, because then at least he’d be tired enough to sleep it off, he’d be battered enough to let his aching body pull his mind into unconsciousness during the night. Instead he’s lying wide awake on his half-rotted mattress well into the early hours of daybreak, unable to sleep as stress and suspense eats him up from the inside.

 

A small part of him would be alarmed by what this says about him, about what Mr. Thawne has done to him, but he’s too busy dreading what should be coming but never does to care.

 

He tries to forget about it when he’s with Len. The same way he always does, as he tries to lose himself in Len’s hands and mouth and touch and taste, and for that period of time every day he can pretend that he doesn’t have to go back to S.T.A.R. Labs in the morning, pretend that everything’s okay.

 

But it doesn’t work like that, not anymore. Because nothing has happened, and suddenly all his excuses are gone.

 

Now all Ray feels is guilt.

 

Two weeks go by, and Ray starts to feel dead on his feet as exhaustion seeps deep into his bones. He can't sleep more than an hour every night, he jumps at everything that moves in his peripheral vision, and his stomach twists at every tiny mistake he makes in fear that it would be the last straw for whatever it is that Mr. Thawne has in store for him.

 

It finally gets to the point where the… whatever this is, that’s happening between him and Len, wears him down more than it helps, but he can’t bring himself to say so, because an ingrained part of him always wants to please, and Ray can’t bear the thought of Len looking at him in disappointment.

 

But it must have shown, in one way or another. Or maybe Len just has that sixth sense. Either way, as the car stops at a red light that night, Len looks at him from the corner of his eye and asks, “You alright?”

 

Ray blinks, and on reflex answers, “Yeah.”

 

There’s a beat of silence as Len continues to look at him.

 

Ray deflates. “No,” he admits quietly.

 

The word echoes in the confinement of the car. Len nods, but doesn’t say anything. They sit in silence, until the light turns green, and Len gets the car moving again.

 

“What are you up for tonight?” Len asks as he turns a corner, and then he shoots Ray a quick glance before he could answer, “don’t lie.”

 

Ray can’t stop the huff of desperate laughter that bubbles out of him, “Unless you’re okay with just a movie, not much else.”

 

Immediately he regrets talking. What had he done?

 

“I’m… I’m sorry, Len. That was out of line. I’m sorry, I know what we agreed on, and I’m sorry I can’t do that for you. Not tonight. I can’t…” He swallows thickly, “I… I understand if you want to just drop me off at the train station so I can go home--”

 

“We can watch a movie,” Len cuts him off, and Ray falls silent for about two seconds before the words sink in.

 

He blinks, and then snaps his head up to look at the other man in surprise, “Wait, really?”

 

“Don’t ruin it, Raymond,” Len warns, but there’s a slight teasing undertone to the words, one that Ray could not have picked up on when they were only starting to know each other. He feels himself starting to smile, for what feels like the first time in ages, and it’s as if a weight has been lifted off his shoulders.

 

“Can, uh, can we watch Star Trek, then?” he ventures, testing the waters.

 

“Original or Next Gen?” Len shoots back, not missing a beat, as he pulls the car into the usual parking spot, and Ray can feel his smile stretching into a full-blown grin.

 

“Maybe one of the movies?” he offers, “I was thinking… _The Voyage Home_.”

 

Len turns to him with a blank stare. “Really? _That’s_ the one you want to watch? The one with the _whales_?”

 

Ray shrugs, “It’s comforting?”

 

They stare at each other for a second, until Len gives a shrug of his own. “Fine,” he says, turning away to get out of the car, “I have it on Blu-Ray.”

 

Fatigue turns what should have been a laugh into a small but heartfelt chuckle as Ray also turns to exit the car, and then trails closely after Len as they enter the elevator.

 

The elevator doors open to the penthouse, and Ray once again marvels at the sight before him.

 

This will never get old. He will never get used to this grandeur, this glamour. This beautiful interior design that a little over a month ago he would have never even dreamed of seeing. At the same time he can’t believe he is this lucky. That Len, that _Leonard Snart_ , would choose _him_ of all people to share this with. Maybe not all of it, but with the amount he’s getting, Ray is more than grateful.

 

He’s not blind as to why he’s here, of course. He knows he serves a purpose. But at the same time, they _are_ about to watch a movie at Ray’s request. So maybe things have changed?

 

Or maybe he’s grasping at straws again.

 

He shakes himself out of his thoughts and follows Len to the lounge, where a ridiculously long couch runs along one side of the room, facing a screen that takes up pretty much the entire wall. Ray has only ever passed by this room. He never thought he’d get to be in it, much less use it.

 

He can’t help but feel giddy. Or maybe that’s the exhaustion finally taking its toll on his mind. In any case, Ray giggles as Len tells him to sit down, and he plops himself down between two of the many throw pillows that are lining the couch.

 

Len raises an eyebrow at him, but doesn’t comment. Instead he turns to the door and calls back before exiting, “Popcorn? Or anything to drink?”

 

“Uh, yeah! For the popcorn. I think I’ll pass on the drink,” Ray says, and Len hums in reply before disappearing into the kitchen.

 

Ray reaches back and pulls the two pillows behind him into his arms, hugging them to his chest as he settles back into the cushions of the couch. He lets out a small, content sigh. Both the pillows and the couch are at least ten times softer than his entire bed.

 

By the time Len returns with a plastic bowl of popcorn in one hand and a mug in the other, Ray is starting to feel a bit dazed. He smiles up at the other man as he takes the bowl from him, “Thank you.”

 

Len smiles back. Then Ray blinks and it’s gone. He blinks a few more times, trying to process what he just saw. Maybe he imagined it, or maybe his tired mind really is playing tricks on him.

 

He watches Len walk over to the controls and boot up the system. The sudden brightness of the screen makes him start, but his eyes adjust after a few seconds of rapid blinking.

 

“You _sure_ you want to watch this one?” Len’s voice cuts through the haze that’s settling over his brain. Normally a question like that would put him on edge, make him second guess his choices and doubt his own preference, but right now he’s too tired to care. And besides, he knows Len won’t hurt him for saying his mind. He’s been rather insistent on hearing exactly what Ray likes, in fact, and Ray can't remember the last time anyone had done the same.

 

Suddenly Ray realizes that Len is still waiting for an answer, and he gives himself another mental shake. “Yes,” he says, but then smiles, “You can choose the next one?”

 

“Fair enough,” the other man says dryly, but Ray can tell he's not serious. Soon, the movie starts to play, and Len walks over to the couch and sits down three pillows away to Ray's right.

 

Which, in all honesty, is a little disappointing. But Ray isn't about to push the boundaries of the one person he has grown to trust. He wants Len to like him, he realizes. It's an almost foreign feeling, when in the past the most he had hoped for was for people to not hate him.

 

So he settles down in his seat, pulling up his legs so he can wrap his arms around his knees along with the two pillows. He sets the bowl of popcorn down between him and Len, so he can reach it easily with his long arm, and it's not out of Len’s reach either.

 

For the majority of the movie, Ray lets himself get sucked into to story. It doesn't matter that he's seen this movie more times than he can actually afford, or that he can recite the entire thing from start to finish on demand--not that anyone has ever demanded it. Every time he sees it is a comfort, and the familiarity almost feels like coming home.

 

The popcorn runs out about two-thirds into the movie. Ray sets the bowl on the floor and proceeds to burrow into the pillow to his right, resting his head on the top edge of it and tries to get comfortable.

 

It doesn't really work. The pillow is too soft to support his weight, and he always ends up slanting almost 90 degrees before he pulls himself back up so he can watch the movie right-side up.

 

Soon all that moving saps the remainder of his energy, and Ray considers not getting up this time as he slowly starts to slide back down again. The movie is about to end, anyway.

 

Suddenly he hears a sigh, and before his brain can process that, he hears rustling. Then, to his surprise, something much more solid than the pillow he's lying against pushes up against his head and takes his weight.

 

Ray pushes back up, wanting to see what’s going on. Len had moved, and instead of being three pillows away he's now sitting right next to Ray. And Ray realizes with a start that the solid thing is actually Len’s shoulder.

 

“I got tired of watching you play roly-poly with yourself,” Len says without looking at him, then he takes a sip from his mug. “It's distracting.”

 

Ray is both too stunned and exhausted to know how to react.

 

“I'm… sorry?” he tries. When Len gives him a shrug, he relaxes a bit. Then he gestures between the two of them, “So, uh, this. This is okay?”

 

Len rolls his eyes. “Yes, Raymond, you can use my shoulder as a pillow. Now stop asking questions and get over here before I change my mind.”

 

Ray wants to laugh. He also wants to cry. And maybe hug Len. But all of those things require more energy than he has right now, so he settles for doing as he's told and resting his head on Len’s shoulder, snuggling up against the side of the other man and leaning his weight into him.

 

As the movie comes to an end, Ray begins to question the wisdom of this decision. On one hand, Len’s presence is reassuring, a steady rock that Ray can cling on to. There is a warmth radiating from the other man, spreading from where they’re in contact with each other to the rest of his body, soothing and comforting. And Ray can feel it melting away the anxiety and fear that’s been coiling in his gut for the past two weeks, and finally, after all this time, he can breathe again.

 

On the other hand, Ray isn’t sure that he can keep his eyes open for much longer.

 

Len shifts next to him, and the movement is enough for Ray to push himself back into being awake. For a bit. He turns his head to look at what Len is doing, and sees the remote in his hand.

 

“My turn,” Len says.

 

“Yeah,” Ray replies. He doesn’t say anything else, because his mind isn’t really forming coherent thoughts anymore, but when Len’s choice of movie pops up on screen after a few quick clicks, he can’t help but let out a small laugh. He loves _Wrath of Khan_.

 

“Of course you do,” Len says. Ray blinks. He didn’t even realize that he had said that out loud. Maybe it really is time to sleep.

 

So he lets go. And as he lets the familiar sounds of the movie and the grounding presence of Len by his side pull him into long denied slumber, Ray thinks, this isn’t so bad.

 

Yeah. He can get used to this.

 

* * *

 

Raymond had stopped moving half an hour ago.

 

Len waves a hand in front of the other man’s face, careful not to move or shift under the pressure of Raymond’s entire weight against him. When he gets no response, he lets out a sigh.

 

With as little movement as possible, he mutes the movie, and then he slowly reaches to his right and gathers the three pillows that had separated them at one point. He stacks them together, then calls on all the skills he has learned as a thief to replace himself from under Raymond with them.

 

Raymond stirs once, but otherwise doesn't wake. Instead he burrows even deeper into the pillows after Len removes himself and continues to sleep.

 

Good. He needs it. Len doesn't need his years of carefully honed observational skills to be able to tell that Raymond hasn't been sleeping, and no doubt Raymond himself has to know that he looks like death warmed over.

 

Now free to move around again, Len gathers the mug and the bowl that they had discarded to the floor and takes them to the kitchen to deposit them in the sink. He comes back to the lounge with a couple of blankets and drapes them over Raymond's sleeping form.

 

Then he sits back down on the couch, a bit further away from the other man, and throws his head back, staring up at the flickering lights emitted from the screen that are dancing across the ceiling.

 

Fuck. What the hell is he doing?

 

This isn't supposed to be like this. He had reached out to Raymond for one purpose and one purpose only. It was supposed to stay that way. There was never supposed to be anything other than sex.

 

This, agreeing to a movie night and letting the man cuddle and fall asleep against him, decidedly isn't sex.

 

Len drags a hand down his face and lets it stay over his mouth. Where had it gone wrong? When did things change? Was it when he finally figured out where the bruises were coming from?

 

Maybe it was. Len remembers that second when everything clicked into place, how horrifying the realization had felt, and how alarmed he'd been at the overwhelming _anger_ that had come with it.

 

But that's different isn't it? It’s because he knows what kind of hell that is, always living in fear of someone you can't escape. No one deserves that. Especially not someone as earnest and open as Raymond.

 

His blood boils at the thought of Thawne, at that insufferable condescending smile and superiority complex that seemingly defines the speedster. Len feels nothing but rage and frustration. At Thawne for hurting Raymond, for his own _amusement_. At himself for being powerless to stop this. Stop Thawne. He already wants nothing more than to see Thawne dead, and this just adds to the list of reasons why. But he also knows how dangerous the man is, and he knows there's nothing he can do that wouldn't result in more suffering for himself and Raymond. Or worse.

 

This current stalemate is an act of grace from Thawne, and as much as Len hates it, he has to take it. Because Len is well aware that Thawne is under no obligation to let this deal between Raymond and himself continue, and he is under no obligation to keep his hands off of Raymond. And the message he had sent to Len is clear: play nice, or else.

 

Len hates it. He hates it with every fiber of his being. But at least Raymond’s bruises can heal without new ones taking their places. At least he can still keep the man somewhat safe. At least Raymond doesn't have to live in the nightmare that Len grew up in anymore.

 

That is the connection, the reason, behind everything that had led to this moment now. He feels a sense of protectiveness for Raymond because of their similar experiences. He can't just sit by and watch someone he c--someone he _knows_ suffer the same way he did. That's the reason why he's doing this. That's why he let the man fall asleep on him. That's why he's letting him spend the night on his couch.

 

(It definitely has nothing to do with the cheesy smiles, the wonder in those big brown eyes, or the unreasonable amount of terrifying trust that's been placed in Len. Of course not.)

 

Suddenly Len realizes that he can see a pattern in the way the lights move on the ceiling. He raises his head to look at the screen and sees that the movie has long since ended, and it's just displaying the main menu on loop now.

 

He sighs. Dutifully he terminates the movie and turns off the screen, throwing the room into darkness. Len adjusted the lights in the room to be just dim enough for a night light, then he takes one more look at the man sleeping on the couch.

 

Raymond, breathing evenly, has the most peaceful expression on his face that Len ever recalls seeing since first meeting him.

 

Len swallows down the dryness in his throat. Then he turns and heads out the door to get ready for bed himself, and tries to ignore the knot in his stomach altogether.

 

Len drags himself out of bed at seven am the next morning after a restless night, remembering that Raymond actually has a job and a timetable to keep to. After a quick shower and a text to ask his driver to take Raymond to work at 8, he heads out to prepare breakfast for the both of them.

 

He did not expect to see Raymond already standing in the kitchen and at the sink, washing the mug and the bowl from the night before while humming the theme of Doctor Who.

 

Len has no idea what to do with this, so he stands at the doorway and watches until Raymond finishes and turns around.

 

“Oh, hey Len! Good morning!” Raymond greets, way too cheerily for this hour. “I hope I didn't wake you. I'm used to getting up at six-thirty because it takes around two hours for me to get ready for the day and get to S.T.A.R. Labs by train, so I woke up at six-thirty today, too. I know it only takes about half an hour from here, but I couldn't go back to sleep and I didn't know which bathroom to use since I've only ever used the one in your room but I didn't want to wake you up. And well, the dishes won't wash themselves, so, I thought I'd help.” He gives Len a small smile.

 

“I have a dishwasher,” Len hears himself say, because he's still trying to process half of what Raymond rambled, and it's way too early for any of this.

 

He immediately regrets it when Raymond's shoulders sag and the smile falls at his words.

 

“No, I didn't mean it like that,” he quickly says before the kicked-puppy look can settle on the other’s face, trying to sound as sincere as he can. “I was just… sorry. Thank you for doing that, you really didn't have to.”

 

Raymond perks up again at that, then he shakes his head a little and flashes Len the most blinding smile he's ever seen in his life, “It's the least I can do to repay you for letting me stay the night!”

 

Okay. He can deal with this later.

 

“If you need to shower it's free now,” he says, sounding a lot less dumbfounded than he feels. “I have a spare toothbrush in the drawers.”

 

He finds himself staring as Raymond smiles again.

 

“Thanks!” And then he walks over to exit the kitchen, and Len pointedly stares at the floor as the sunshine incarnate passes by him.

 

This… is not good.

 

Again, Len pushes those thoughts away for him to freak out later so he can focus at the task at hand. Make breakfast. Make a big breakfast, because neither of them had remembered to eat dinner last night, other than the popcorn, which really doesn't count.

 

At least Raymond has a valid excuse.

 

Len makes two full plates of pancakes with scrambled eggs and bacon on the side. Then he takes them out to the dining table and goes back to the fridge for orange juice.

 

He was about to place the two glasses, the pitcher, and the bottle of syrup down on the table when Raymond emerges from his room. And freezes.

 

Len raises an eyebrow as he unloads the items, taking in Raymond's wide eyes and gaping mouth. “Breakfast’s ready. I just have to get the forks,” he says.

 

Raymond nods once. Then he blinks and swallows, eyes never moving from the plates on the table. “I… all of this? For me?”

 

“You only get one plate, Raymond,” Len can't help but tease, and smirks at how the other blushes at that.

 

“I know, sorry, I just… wow,” Raymond slowly walks up to the table, still looking stunned. He sinks down into a chair, then gestures to the plate closer to him with one finger, “this is, a lot.”

 

“What, never had a full breakfast before?” Len continues to tease as he turns back to the kitchen to get the utensils they need. He expects a huff or a stammer, what he doesn't expect is three seconds of silence and a very quiet, “No.”

 

He stops, then turns around to face Raymond fully. The man is still looking at the breakfast like it's the eighth wonder of the world, and Len feels a pang of… something, in his chest, at the thought that this is the first time Raymond can remember having this kind of food.

 

Briefly he thinks about what might have been in that other reality, before Len and the Legion took the Spear and made the world theirs. Was that Raymond also like this? Did he also live a life of unfair hardships? Len remembers, fleetingly, that there seemed to have been a quiet strength in that past version Raymond, from what little he'd seen of him, something that this Raymond now definitely lacks. How would his meeting with that Raymond had gone?

 

Well. Len will never get to find out.

 

“What do you usually eat?” he can't help but ask as he returns with the forks.

 

“Uh… toast. Or leftover pizza,” Raymond says, scratching the back of his head, “or sometimes… you know. I skip it.”

 

“How often does that happen?” Len presses, his voice quiet.

 

Raymond doesn't answer, and can't meet his eyes. Len sighs, knowing the answer has to be more often than not, and holds out Raymond's fork to him.

 

“Eat,” he says, “we can forget I asked.”

 

Raymond gives him a small, grateful smile while manages to still look sheepish. Then he takes the fork and tentatively sinks it into his pancakes.

 

Len finally sits down at the table himself, and focuses on pouring out juice for both of them and then what is most likely an unhealthy heap of syrup on his pancakes. He sees Raymond staring, and pointedly offers the bottle to him while blocking his line of vision.

 

Raymond quickly takes the bottle, and Len watches as he hesitantly begins pouring out the syrup, as if unsure just how much he wants. Or unsure if he's allowed. After a small dollop, he pauses, then, Len sees something glint in his eyes as he takes a deep breath and squeezes the bottle, running the nozzle over his stack in a few circles then pulls back. And beams.

 

There isn't even that much syrup on his pancakes, definitely less than what Len has, but Raymond looks so giddy and proud of himself nonetheless, and Len has to refocus on butchering his scrambled eggs into an even bigger scrambled mess with his fork.

 

For the next twenty minutes, Len tries to concentrate on finishing breakfast. It's easier said than done, as Raymond never stops talking about how great the food is and dropping out words of gratitude and apology every two minutes. But somehow they get through it anyway.

 

Raymond helps Len take the used dishes back to the kitchen and into the dishwasher, though Len ends up doing most of the work because Raymond is unfamiliar with the machine. They then tidy up the rest of it, putting away the syrup and wiping down the table. Then left with a few more minutes to spare, Raymond busies himself getting ready to leave.

 

At 8 o’clock sharp, Len receives a text from his driver, to inform him that she's waiting at the entrance. Len relays the message to Raymond, who has been sitting on the stairs of the grand foyer, waiting.

 

Raymond jumps up, and Len is attacked by a mixed feeling of both relief and disappointment at the fact that the man is finally leaving.

 

He follows Raymond to the elevator entrance, figuring he should at least see him out this far. But before either of them can press the button to summon it, Raymond suddenly stops in his tracks and turns around to face Len.

 

He looks hesitant, but still hopeful. Len raises an eyebrow at him, then almost rolls his eyes when Raymond actually brings a fist up to his mouth to clear his throat.

 

“I, uh, have a… sort of a weird question,” he says.

 

“Ask away,” Len replies, crossing his arms over his chest.

 

“Can I hug you?”

 

Len stares.

 

“...what.”

 

“Can I hug you?” Raymond repeats, a bit louder this time, and Len closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose.

 

“I heard you the first time,” he clarifies, “what I meant was, _why_?”

 

“For good bye? And as thanks for agreeing to the movie night and not kicking me out for not having sex with you,” Raymond offers, “And letting me stay the night. And making me breakfast.”

 

“Did you really think I was going to kick you out for refusing sex?” Len asks, because that's the only part he can afford to focus on right now.

 

Raymond shrinks in on himself just a little, and Len thinks maybe he deserves the emotional crisis he's been putting off and definitely going to suffer through after Raymond leaves.

 

“It's… why you sought me out in the first place, right?” His voice is small and unsure, but his eyes are still stubbornly meeting Len’s own.

 

“Fine,” Len sighs, “I will allow one hug.”

 

Raymond beams at him, then he steps forward and wraps his arm around Len’s waist in a tight hold (which isn't at all unexpected) as he buries his face in the crook of Len’s neck.

 

What does throw Len off, is when he slowly brings up his own arms to wrap around Raymond, and as soon as his hands come in contact with the man's back, suddenly Raymond’s entire body _melts_ against him.

 

Instinctively, Len immediately tightens his own hold on Raymond, one hand supporting his weight at the small of his back and the other coming up to wrap around the back of his head, as he notices how Raymond's hands have gone from firmly holding him to desperately clinging at the back of his shirt.

 

Then, amid the million of questions currently racing through his mind, Len hears a small, muffled whisper of _thank you_ against his neck.

 

And Len gets the feeling that the thank you is about more than just the hospitality and the food.

 

Then the moment is over as suddenly as it had started, and Raymond pushes away from him and gives him another smile, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

 

“Thanks again!” Raymond says, face full of sunshine, and then turns around to summon the elevator after Len nods at him.

 

The doors slide open as soon as he presses the button, as no one has used it since they arrived yesterday. Raymond trots into the elevator, then spins on his heels to select the ground floor and waves good bye at Len as the doors close between them.

 

It's only after the indicator shows the elevator descending that Len realizes he's still slowly waving at nothing. Grimacing, he draws the hand back to himself, suddenly filled with the urge to set himself on fire.

 

Honestly, what the _fuck_ is he even doing?

 

* * *

 

 _Glee_ is not a word that Eobard likes to use to describe himself, but he thinks, maybe for this instance, he can make an exception.

 

The day has finally come. He’s been waiting for this moment for a very, _very_ long time. It took longer than Eobard thought it would, but he supposes miscalculation is inevitable when it comes to human emotions.

 

It still made it very satisfying to see the familiar Cadillac pull up to S.T.A.R. Labs this morning, as he has been expecting all week.

 

He watches as Raymond steps out of the car, and notes just how _different_ he looks. Gone is the exhaustion that had plagued him for all this time, and, Eobard muses, he actually looks _happy_.

 

This is going to be _fun_.

 

The anticipation eats at him, but Eobard forces himself to wait. The time is almost right, he just needs to be a bit more patient.

 

He lets the pet be for most of the day, then as the day nears its end, he summons him.

 

Raymond appears in his office, with a look of wariness on his face. There’s only a small trace of fear left, and Eobard finds himself missing it.

 

Ah, well, it’ll be fixed soon enough.

 

“You called for me, Mr. Thawne?” he says timidly, as he walks over to the center of the room. Eobard keeps his eyes on him, and is pleased to see that despite being much more calmer in his presence, Raymond still can’t meet his eyes.

 

“I have some questions for you, Raymond,” Eobard starts, taking in the way the pet nervously shifts his weight, “in particular about how you arrived at work this morning.”

 

Raymond freezes, and Eobard can see the panic and dread clear on his face. He's always been such an open book, freely displaying every emotion that the pathetic cap on his head could never hide. He couldn't if he tried, and that's what makes toying with him that much more rewarding.

 

“I didn't know your salary allowed for a _car_ , much less a personal driver,” he continues, stepping forward. Immediately Raymond twitches, but still manages to hold his ground. Eobard is _thrilled_.

 

“And I should know, as I am, after all, your _superior_.” He slowly makes his way towards Raymond, but in the end doesn't step up to him, and instead circles around, watching him closely. “There is precious little that I don't know about you, Raymond, now--”

 

Now standing behind him, Eobard places a hand square in the center of his back and holds it there, and takes delight in how Raymond's back arches in an attempt to get away, and the way his breathing hitches when he realizes he _can't_. “--is there anything you'd like to tell me?”

 

“I… ” Raymond breathes, harsh and panicked, “I-”

 

Eobard digs his fingers into his back, and draws a whimper out of Raymond with it. “Speak up, _pet_ , I can't hear you.”

 

“It wasn't my car,” he answers desperately, his voice tight and high-pitched, “I don't have a car, I don't have a driver.”

 

Eobard waits, but Raymond doesn't say anything more.

 

Hmm. Interesting.

 

“I suppose you could be telling the truth.” He pulls his hand back, but not before giving Raymond one more pat, which elicits a flinch. He continues to pace the floor at a leisurely pace, now strolling back to the front of the Cortex counter. “Well, then I guess the question I should be asking is, whose car was it?”

 

He turns around to lean back against the edge of the counter, and watches the pet stare at the ground with his entire body frozen rigid.

 

“Well?” he presses after a good minute of silence. “Got nothing to say?”

 

Raymond visibly swallows. Then, quietly, he answers. “It was no one's.”

 

Well. This is unexpected.

 

“No one’s?” he echoes. “What, did a stranger just decide to perform a random act of _kindness_ and offer you a ride on the side of the road this morning?” He spits out the word _kindness_ like it's poison, forging his question into an attack and can't help letting out a small laugh when Raymond winces.

 

“Don't take me for an idiot like you, Raymond,” he continues, “I will give you one more chance. Whose car was it?”

 

Usually at this point would be when he breaks. Eobard has toyed with him enough to know that the pet would admit to anything he's done before in order to avoid punishment. Self-preservation is something he still has, after all. It's probably the only thing he still has.

 

So it stuns him, catches Eobard completely by surprise, when Raymond sets his jaw, looks up at him, and despite the overwhelming _terror_ etched into his eyes and face, says again, “It was no one's.”

 

Eobard stares, his mind racing, trying to find an explanation to this blatant display of disobedience. Why did Raymond say that? Why lie? He has nothing to gain from this, unless--

 

“You're protecting him,” he realizes, mystified, forgetting that he has a role to play. Because it amazes him, because he cannot comprehend how just staying over for one night with Leonard Snart would possibly be enough for Raymond to be, essentially, willing to die for him. “You're even further gone than I thought you'd be.”

 

Eobard only remembers his original plan when Raymond blinks at him, wide-eyed and confused, and Eobard can almost see the cogs turning in his head as he tries to make sense of what was said.

 

Eobard smiles at him.

 

“Sit down, Raymond,” he orders,gesturing to one of the rolling stools. Raymond does as he's told, but there is still clear hesitation in the way he moves.

 

Then he sees the moment everything falls into place, the split second Raymond _gets_ it and how the confusion in the creases on his forehead shifts into horror.

 

“Leonard Snart is quite the man, isn't he?” Eobard steadily says, looking right into Raymond's eyes, and only lets his smile grow wider when the pet inhales sharply, his whole frame shaking, and his fingers dig deep into his thighs in death grips.

 

“Please don't hurt him,” he chokes out, and Eobard can't help raising his eyebrows at that, as Raymond stutters on. “H-he came to me, but I-I _accepted_. I went w-willingly, it was--it was _my choice_ , it wasn't his fault, _please_ , don't hurt him.”

 

The last three words trail into a whisper, but the desperation behind them echo throughout the room like a resounding yell.

 

Eobard _laughs_. This is _unbelievable_. Who would ever be so desperate for affection that even the slightest bit of attention would garner this level of loyalty?

 

But then again, Eobard supposes this is the result of his own handiwork. He made the pet this way. He should be proud.

 

His laughter dies down enough for him to push out an incredulous, “Oh, Raymond, _please_ , do you really think you're in the position to ask _anything_ of me?”

 

Raymond recoils, as if Eobard had struck him with a physical blow, his eyes screwed tightly shut as a light gasp escapes his lips.

 

“Please,” he begs, voice shaking and barely above a whisper. He swallows thickly, then again opens his mouth. “I'll do anything, _everything_ , so _please_.”

 

Eobard tsks, shaking his head. This is _far_ more entertaining than he’d hoped it be. It adds a whole new factor to his original plan, but, God, is he ever so _eager_ to find out how things will play out now.

 

It's time to make a move.

 

“That's highly noble of you,” he says, letting a hint of actual praise slip into his tone. Raymond picks up on it--of course he does, something he so rarely gets is bound to draw his attention--and starts, looking up at him hesitantly, and Eobard almost breaks character again at the ridiculous amount of _hope_ he can see on the pet's face.

 

“But unfortunately, your offer just isn't needed,” he continues, and the hope wavers. He bites back a pleased hum, and finally plays the first move. “After all, I wouldn't ever think of hurting a _client_.”

 

There's a beat of silence, as he waits for Raymond to process what he said. Raymond stares at him, and for the first time in a long, long while, Eobard can see _shock_ displayed plainly on his face again.

 

“What…what…?” the pet flounders. It's _hilarious_.

 

“Please, did you really think Leonard Snart found out about _you_ all by himself?” Eobard laughs, waiting for the realization to sink in. It takes a few more seconds, and then Raymond slowly begins to shake his head.

 

“No,” he whispers, quietly, in horror, “No.”

 

Eobard smiles.

 

“Did you really think, that the _King_ of Central City would even _consider_ taking a second glance at a _janitor_?”

 

“ _No_ ,” Raymond repeats, more vehemently this time, as he looks up at Eobard, his eyes glinting with something new, something like _defiance_ , and suddenly a memory of that exact same look, back on the moon, resurfaces in Eobard’s mind.

 

“You’re lying,” he continues, actual anger seeping into his still shaking voice, “you’re _wrong_ , he would never… Len would _never_ -”

 

He cuts himself off, as if too overwhelmed by his own emotions to say anything more, but that small flame is still burning in his eyes as he stubbornly meets Eobard’s gaze, and for the first time since the world was remade, Eobard can see a glimpse of the man he once was.

 

It seems the original Ray Palmer is still buried in there somewhere, after all.

 

That won’t do.

 

“How do you think he heard about you?” Eobard says, as he pushes off the edge of the counter to walk towards the pet again. Raymond pales slightly, but doesn't back down or look away. “How else would he have discovered your _pathetic_ existence if not for me?”

 

Finally the first sliver of doubt appears and the flame in his eyes dims a little, as Raymond blinks at his words and looks down at the floor again with an uneasy gulp. Eobard circles around, once more stopping behind him.

 

“Why do you think I haven’t _touched_ you for the past two weeks?” he continues, and at the word _touched_ he lands his hands on Raymond's shoulders, earning a jump. And Eobard can't keep the mirth out of his voice, as he slides his hands down the pet's arms, and feels him _quake_ under his touch, “No one wants a broken and imperfect _toy_ , now do they?”

 

His hands stop at the elbows, and he grabs hold, trapping the pet in place as he leans down to talk right into Raymond’s ear.

 

“Why do you think he calls you _Raymond_?”

 

Raymond gasps, a sharp stuttering breath that ripples through his entire body and leaves him shaking. Eobard lingers there for a few seconds, feeling him tremble, then finally pulls back, but not before giving Raymond one more forceful pat with both hands, this time drawing both a jump and a whimper out of him.

 

Eobard strolls back to the counter, only glancing over his shoulder back at Raymond without turning around to face him. The pet is struggling, Eobard can see it, how that spark of his past self is all but dying, and he's doing everything he can, fighting with all his might, to keep himself above the water.

 

“No,” Raymond says again, but this time the word is coated with dread, sounding hollow and unsure. He screws his eyes shut again, face locked in a pained expression as he pushes out, desperately, “That’s not true.”

 

Looks like it’s going to take more than Eobard’s words to completely severe that last string of hope.

 

Good thing Eobard always plans ahead.

 

Calmly he reaches out to the controls on the Cortex counter, and presses one single button.

 

_“What have you been doing to him?”_

 

Leonard’s unmistakable voice fills the room, and Eobard watches from the corner of his eye how Raymond’s head snaps up at the sound of it, eyes wide. Eobard turns to face him again, a satisfied smile pulling at his lips as he watches the scene unfold in front of him.

 

_“What, has he been moaning in pain more than pleasure lately?”_

 

Eobard’s own voice follows. Raymond draws in a sharp breath, and the horrified disbelief on his face is something Eobard will commit to memory for lifetimes to come.

_“I don’t appreciate it.”_

 

Raymond jerks, once, like he was slapped by the callousness in those words. Eobard is especially proud of this line, and it’s made all the sweeter by Leonard’s own effort to appear disinterested while they talked over city plans.

_“You wouldn't actually be starting to **care** for him, now would you?”_

 

He sees Raymond holding his breath, waiting for the answer, and Eobard can’t help but hold his own breath in anticipation, too.

_“Of course not.”_

 

Raymond _shatters_.

 

The light in his eyes dies, and his whole body sags, like he’s suddenly stripped of all his strength. He stares on ahead, but his eyes are unfocused, as the breath he had been holding escapes his mouth in a small, broken huff that sounds more like a sob.

 

He breaks, sinks, and it's _beautiful_. Eobard only finds himself regretting having told the pet to sit down--he would’ve loved to see him collapse to his knees.

_“Good, he’s really not worth the effort. But I have to admit, I see the reasoning.”_

 

Eobard walks forward. Raymond doesn’t react to the words or to him, sitting there like a lifeless doll, staring down at his hands that lie limp on his thighs. The cap is hiding his face from view again, and Eobard feels a sudden spike of anger. He wants to see him struggling under the water. He wants to see his face as he holds his head under the water until he _drowns_.

_“I’ll have him ready for you for tonight.”_

 

The recording stops, and Eobard stops in front of Raymond. He reaches out with one hand, taking the pet’s chin in his fingers, forcing him to look up at him. And then, with his other hand, he grabs hold of the offending cap and yanks it off.

 

Raymond’s breath catches in his throat, and Eobard smirks at the panic that floods his face.

 

“You see, Raymond, you never had a choice in this matter,” he says as he tosses the cap aside. “Leonard was bored, so I offered him you. He didn't like damaged goods, so I promised I'd stop. And you know I always make good on my promises.”

 

Raymond whimpers, his brown eyes glistening with unshed tears. His breathing is harsh and uneven, but he's biting down on his bottom lip, trying to make as little noise as possible. As he should; one of the first lessons Eobard taught him was how to be silent, after all.

 

A stray strand of hair falls into Raymond's face. Eobard hums, then reaches up with his free hand and cards his fingers through the hair, tidying it up from the messy state the cap had left it in. Raymond squeezes his eyes shut as Eobard drags his nails across his scalp, and two beads of tears escape and trail down his cheeks.

 

“Now, now,” he scolds, letting sweetness into his tone, knowing that Raymond will never buy into it. With his thumb he wipes away one of the tears. “Don't be like this. Be a good pet and tidy yourself up for Leonard tonight.”

 

Raymond draws in a shuddering breath, and lets it out as a small sob.

 

“Do you hear me, Raymond?” he presses.

 

“Yes,” comes the answer, small and defeated and broken, “Mr. Thawne.”

 

“Good,” Eobard purrs. Then he speeds over to the cap on the floor, picks it up, and speeds back to press it into Raymond’s chest. He doesn't miss how the pet jumps upon seeing his red lightning. “Run along now. It's almost time.”

 

Raymond leaves the Cortex, with just ten minutes left to spare. Eobard finds his spot on the second floor again, and waits.

 

He watches the Cadillac pull up to the driveway, and watches Leonard step out of the car, just like he always does.

 

He watches Raymond come out of the building to meet him, and sees the alarm on Leonard’s face the moment he realizes something is off.

 

He watches Leonard reach out to Raymond, watches him land a hand on his shoulder, and watches Raymond _flinch_.

 

Leonard draws his hand back as if burnt.

 

Eobard _laughs_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry. -Ruth


	3. How to Start a War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eobard fucks it all up. 
> 
> Len lashes out.
> 
> Ray breaks.

As soon as the coast is clear, Len leaves his apartment, following close on Raymond’s heels until he peels off in the direction of Mick’s place.

 

Mick is one of the ones who’d wanted more of a dungeon than a mansion--his place is still nice, still expensive, but it’s trashed more often than not, the floor littered with empty beer bottles and candy wrappers.

 

Len doesn’t even bother knocking, just strolls into the basement apartment, announcing his presence. “Mick,” he calls, “wake up!”

 

He hears a grunt from the couch, and Mick’s head pops up. “Snart?” he asks, his voice sleep-thick. “What time is it?”

 

Oh, right, it’s _early_. Len’s used to being a night owl, just like Mick is. Neither of them usually wake up before 10am for anything except a score, and it’s only nearing 9am.

 

“I’ve got a problem, Mick,” Len says, walking over to perch on the arm of the couch as Mick rubs his eyes and blinks blearily up at Len. “When you said that I had a _thing_ for Raymond, in my future and his past, what did you really mean by that?”

 

“Why?” Mick asks. “You startin’ to _feel_ things?”

 

“Absolutely not,” Len lies. “I just...I had assumed it was all physical attraction, and I’m just wondering how true that is.”

 

Mick rolls his eyes. “You come barging over here at,” he checks the time, “8:45 in the _fucking morning_ to ask if you were ass-over-heels for the goddamn Boy Scout? Well, you were. You were so in deep for him that you chose him over _me_ , only a few weeks in. Does that answer your question?”

 

He’d chosen...Raymond, over Mick? That soon? Len rakes a hand down his face. It’s getting harder and harder to stay rational about this. He’d been able to maintain distance by most of the time kicking Raymond out after only a few minutes to catch his breath after they both came, and by only occasionally taking the other man out to dinner--usually after the sex had been especially good.

 

Last night, though. Last night, Len had given into his impulses, had scooted closer to Raymond. Had taken up the weight of Raymond’s anxiety as Raymond leaned his head on Len’s shoulder. That’s not what they agreed to, that’s not what Len wanted to get out of this.

 

It’s just about the sex, Len tells himself, but he knows he’s lying.

 

“You okay over there, boss?” Mick asks, and Len realizes his hand is still over his mouth.

 

“I…” Len trails off, not sure of how to answer. Everything’s buried too deep, and he’s not sure how to quantify what he’s, yes, _feeling_. “I think I might _like_ being with Raymond,” he answers finally, aware that Mick is staring at him.

 

“I should hope so,” Mick responds. “You’re with him every day. I’d hope you’d like lookin’ at his stupid face.”

 

Len shakes his head. “It’s more than that, I think. You said my future self was, what, _ass-over-heels_ for Raymond? I’m not sure if I’m _there_ yet, but I think I might be...developing _feelings_.”

 

Mick smirks. “I knew you had a heart buried somewhere under all that ice,” he teases.

 

“Ugh,” Len responds, rolling his eyes. “ _Disgusting_.”

 

“What changed?” Mick asks.

 

“He stayed over last night,” Len explains. “We watched _Star Trek_.” It sounds stupid when he says it out loud, like one night together and _Star Trek_ is the tipping point. God, Len is such a fucking _nerd_ sometimes.

 

Mick laughs. “And you’re ready to propose marriage after just that?”

 

“Stop being an asshole,” Len scolds, but Mick’s smirk stays steady.

 

“So what’re you gonna do about it?” Mick prods.

 

“I don’t know,” Len says. “Hadn’t really thought that far ahead.” Too busy trying not to freak out to figure out what to actually _do_ about these unexpected and inconvenient feelings.

 

Mick swings his legs over the side of the couch, setting them on the floor as he stretches up. “I’ll let you figure that out while I wake up,” he says, and wanders off in the direction of his bathroom.

 

Len turns, falling backwards onto the couch that Mick just vacated. He hits with a small, “oof,” and leaves his legs dangling over the arm.

 

He’s known for a while--since the beginning really--that he’s attracted to Raymond. That there’s a magnetism, pulling him towards the other man. Up until last night, he’d let himself believe that it was only physical, that Raymond annoyed him otherwise. That Raymond wasn’t worth his time otherwise.

 

His reaction to Raymond’s hug this morning, though, makes him think otherwise. His heart had jumped up to his throat, his chest feeling tight, gasping in shallow breaths. That’s _not_ just a normal reaction to a hug, especially not a hug from someone who is naked most of the time Len spends with him. It wasn’t a sexual reaction, it was--ugh, those annoying _feelings_.

 

Len thinks back, turns over their every non-sexual interaction in his head. Raymond taking his hand as they walked to their favorite Thai restaurant. Raymond resting his knee against Len’s as they drank together at the local brew pub. Len remembers the fluttering in his heart, that he’d chalked up to an after-effect of his recent orgasm, at Raymond’s hand. Or mouth. Or ass. Whatever.

 

Had he been falling for Raymond, even as early as their first night together? Even as Raymond made him laugh, when he had taken Len by surprise in his response to Len shooting Geo?

 

No, Len maintains that things changed when he realized what Thawne was doing to the other man, that the bruises and cuts and scars were from Thawne, from those _sick games_. Len feels nauseated, thinking of letting Thawne lay one more hand on Raymond. And, fuck, Raymond is at his mercy every day.

 

Len needs to get him out of there. How, though, is the question. No matter where they go, Thawne would find them. And Len is pretty sure he’s nowhere near the _run away together_ stage of this, whatever this is turning into.

 

Thawne may be giving Raymond a break, as some sort of twisted ploy to hold over Len, but Len’s fully aware that Thawne can end this ice-thin truce at any moment. Which, to be fair, is probably Thawne’s plan--to make sure he has leverage over Len. To say, ‘if you fuck up, I’ll destroy him again.’

 

So it’s back to the plan he’s been working on all along: how to kill Eobard Thawne. How to kill a speedster. It’s been percolating in his mind since they started this venture, especially since they used the spear. Merlyn and Darhk are annoying, but Len doesn’t see them as a threat, especially with the both of them all the way out in Star City. Maybe they could even be allies, in this. But Thawne is here, in Central City, in _Len’s_ city, making like he’s king of the world.

 

He’s the biggest threat, for many reasons, and Len can’t wait to kill him. The fact that he thinks he has some sort of _claim_ to Raymond, that he thinks he _owns_ Raymond, only increases Len’s rage. Only increases Len’s determination to freeze the bastard and shatter him into pieces. Thawne can outrun his speed demon all he wants, can keep it locked up in his vault in S.T.A.R. Labs, but Len wants to see how the speedster fares against his cold gun.

 

Mick says Len has used it with moderate success against the Flash in his past--Len’s former future--but there’s no doubt that Thawne is a bigger threat than the Scarlet Speedster ever could dream of being.

 

None of that, however, solves his problem of what to do about Raymond.

 

“You look like shit,” Mick says, walking out of his bathroom and eyeing Len, who is still decked out on the couch.

 

“ _Thanks_ ,” Len drawls, rolling his eyes.

 

“Come to any decisions?” Mick asks, walking over to the kitchen to start up a pot of coffee.

 

“I’m fucked,” Len responds, dramatically.

 

“In more ways than one,” Mick mutters.

 

Len grabs a discarded sock and whips it at Mick’s head. It misses, bouncing against the kitchen cabinets instead, before flopping onto the floor.

 

“Wow,” Mick says, “you’re really messed up over this if you can’t even hit me in the head with random objects.”

 

Sometimes, Len hates his life.

 

* * *

 

Len is outside at the usual time, waiting for Raymond to make his way out of the lab. He’s more anxious than normal, and it’s annoying him. There’s no reason for him to be nervous, none at all.

 

Nothing has changed, really. Yeah, Len may have admitted to himself that he has feelings, but things are going to stay the same, at least until he can get Thawne out of the way. It won’t _do_ for Thawne to know that Len has gotten himself in too deep over this tall, goofy nerd.

 

Raymond walks out of the front door, and Len immediately knows something is off. Raymond’s gait is different--slower--and his face is hidden behind the cap he has taken to leaving behind as his shift ends. Shit, shit, _shit_.

 

Len rakes his eyes over Raymond’s body, picking up no limp, no part of himself that Raymond is holding gingerly. So it’s not physical, Len catalogs as Raymond approaches cautiously.

 

“Raymond?” Len asks, reaching a hand up and tentatively placing it on the man’s shoulder. Raymond’s entire body gives a massive shudder, a _flinch_ , and Len snatches his hand back. “Get in,” he says, opening the car door. Raymond follows his command, folding in half to fit into the Cadillac.

 

Len’s eyes flick up to Thawne’s observation window and sees mirth written all over the man’s face. He focuses on taking deep breaths as he tears his gaze away and walks to the other side of the car. Len will not stalk in and freeze Thawne, will not, _cannot_. Not without his cold gun, which is inconveniently at his apartment, locked up in his safe.

 

They’re silent on the car ride. Len steals sidelong glances at Raymond, whose face is still hidden underneath the brim of that cap that Len would love to pull off, to toss aside so he can _see_. He doesn’t, because if Raymond flinches at his touch again, he’s not sure he wouldn’t turn the car around and ram it through the front door of S.T.A.R. Labs, cold gun in hand or not.

 

When they finally get to Len’s place and get out of the car, Raymond moves like a ghost, trailing behind Len all the way into the building and up in the elevator. Len waits, trying to be patient, because he’s not sure he won’t break something when he finds out what happened, and he’d rather not break his hand punching the elevator doors.

 

Raymond continues to hide his face, and Len is getting frustrated. He just wants to _know_ so he can react accordingly. He just wants to _know_ , so he can stop imagining worst-case scenarios, can stop running through the options of what Thawne possibly could have done to break Raymond so thoroughly.

 

Finally, after what feels like a decade, the elevator dings open to Len’s penthouse and Raymond stumbles out after him, staring at the floor like he’d love for it to swallow him whole.

 

“Okay,” Len says, rounding on Raymond and trying to not sound like he’s more furious than he can ever remember being, “what happened?”

 

“Nothing.” Raymond’s voice is quiet, mouse-like, and Len wants to wrap his hands around Thawne’s throat.

 

Instead, Len forces himself to calm down. He knows, from personal experience, that outward anger will only make things worse. He softens his voice, his expression, breathing deep through his nose.

 

“Raymond,” he starts, but Raymond jerks at the name, flinching away again. Oh, shit. “Ray,” Len corrects, adjusting, “please, tell me. What did he do to you?”

 

Oh, and Raymond looks up at that, and Len’s breath catches at the pain he sees there. Raymond’s eyes are wide, brimming with tears, full of the sting of betrayal.

 

“So you did know,” Raymond whispers. “You--you knew.”

 

Len sighs, motioning for Raymond to sit down at the table. Raymond does, dutifully, and Len feels sick to his stomach. Before joining the other man, Len grabs two glasses, clinks a few ice cubes into them, and grabs a bottle of bourbon. He pours a good glug into both glasses and sits, taking a large sip from his own right away.

 

Raymond doesn’t touch his.

 

It hurts more than Len would like to admit.

 

“I knew,” he admits, begrudgingly. “I’m sorry, Raym--Ray. There’s nothing I can do to stop him. Yet. But--”

 

“I don’t need to hear it,” Raymond mutters. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me. That’s not why I’m here.” He looks up, his eyes wet with unshed tears. “Should we get to it, then?” he asks, his voice almost steady.

 

“Get to what?” Len asks, confused.

 

“Sex,” Raymond replies, finally taking off that damn hat, shrugging out of his cardigan to place it on the back of the chair. He starts unbuttoning his shirt with shaking hands.

 

That snaps Len out of his trance, and he holds out a hand. “Stop,” Len says, and Raymond’s hands stop moving on the buttons, even as they still shake. “Do you remember what I said to you, when we first started this? I said that I wasn’t going to threaten you to get you into bed. This feels like you’re threatened, by me, by _him_ , and I don’t want that. I want you willing or not at all.”

 

“Okay,” Raymond says, and slips his cardigan back on. He places his hat back on his head and stands up. “Then not at all, I guess,” he says, and starts walking to the elevator.

 

“Ray, wait,” Len says, lurching up and following the other man, keeping his distance. “Wait, can we talk about this? I didn’t--I didn’t mean to hurt you, I’m--god, Ray, _please_.” Len is vaguely aware of the pleas coming out of his mouth and he should hate them, but all his focus is spent on keeping his voice calm and steady, on not just _screaming_.

 

Raymond presses the button and the elevator opens. “Bye, Len,” he says, and turns to the side to press the button for the lobby. “Thanks for everything.” He doesn’t turn fully around, doesn’t meet Len’s eyes as the door closes behind him.

 

Oh, god. _Fuck. This_.

 

Len walks slowly back over to the table, picks up Raymond’s full glass and turns, throwing it without a word. It shatters against the nearest wall, liquid splashing out and dripping down. He does the same to his own glass, and then the half-full bottle of bourbon.

 

None of it feels satisfying, so he stalks over to his safe and punches in the code. He pulls out the cold gun and powers it up. First, he freezes the safe, watching the hinges swell and crack. He’ll have to get a new safe but, then again, he doesn’t plan on his cold gun leaving his side again after this.

 

Then he walks out of his closet and into his bedroom, freezing the bed, sheets--sheets that smell like Raymond, no matter how often Len washes them, now--still messed from last night. Last night when Raymond had spent the night, not in bed with him, like he’d...like he’d hoped Raymond would do tonight.

 

Because Len was going to ask, was going to tell Raymond that it was okay to spend the night. Was going to suggest that they order sushi and watch a best-of _Star Trek: The Original Series_ marathon. Was going to wrap his arm around Raymond and hold him close, cuddled up on the couch.

 

Well, that’s never fucking happening _now_.

 

Len releases his finger from the trigger, a solid block of ice keeping him from his bed. Good. He never wants to go near it again. He’s crashing on Mick’s couch--

 

Mick.

 

Mick started this.

 

This is all Mick’s fault. Mick pushed him at Raymond, knowing full well that he would develop feelings, knowing full well that Raymond is exactly everything Len wants, everything he never knew he wanted in a--in a lover. In a _relationship_.

 

Raymond is funny and sweet and gorgeous and good in bed and he surprises Len at every turn, with every word out of his mouth. He’s a _revelation_ , and Len got sucked in.

 

He takes a deep breath, letting it out in a heavy sigh. And another. And another.

 

This, too, shall pass.

 

All Len needs to do is harden his heart again. Shouldn’t be too hard, it’s not like he hasn’t done it before. He needs to be _cold_ again, to not let anyone get close, not let anyone in. That’s the only way he can win this.

 

That’s the only way he can beat Thawne. The only way he can be satisfied, the only way he can--what? Win Raymond back over? Seems pretty fucking unlikely at this point, Raymond couldn’t even stand his touch. So, no, not that, then.

 

_Revenge_.

 

Yes, that.

 

Len wants revenge, wants it through the haze of anger, of frustration, of bone-deep _pain_ coursing through him.

 

Eobard Thawne will pay, and Len will be there to see it.

 

That’s a fucking promise.

 

* * *

 

Ray manages to hold it together through his long train ride home, through the transfer to his bus, through the trek up the hill to his basement apartment. He’s in public, and even though he doesn’t know anyone around him, he can’t make a spectacle of himself--no matter how much he feels like he’s about to shatter into tiny pieces of glass at any second.

 

The second he gets into his apartment, though, the second he lets the door click shut behind him, he cracks. He barely makes it over to his cheap futon couch that doubles as his bed before collapsing, sobs wracking his body.

 

He curls up around himself, shuddering and gasping for air as he cries, as he _breaks_.

 

Len--Len _knew_. Len knew, Len knew, Len knew, and he didn’t do anything, he didn’t protect Ray, never planned on protecting Ray, was really, truly, using Ray.

 

It’s not like he hadn’t been clear from the beginning--it was just about the sex. That was the arrangement, and Ray should have known better to read anything else into it. Of _course_ Len had come to some arrangement with Mr. Thawne; Ray had been stupid to not see it before. To not see that the _games_ had stopped only a few weeks into his arrangement with Len.

 

No, not Len. Mr. Snart. _Len_ is too familiar, feels too much like home. Ray can taste ‘Len’ on his tongue, can feel all the times he’s said that name: all the times he’s moaned it, all the times he’s whispered it, all the times he’s said it with a smile on his lips.

 

The other man is no longer a safe place for Ray, no longer someone to trust, to rely on. He should never have been in the first place, and Ray is a moron for ever thinking otherwise.

 

Ray wraps his cardigan closer around him like a blanket, but he all too soon realizes that it smells like L--Mr. Snart. He wants to bury his face in it, to inhale that familiar minty, musky scent, because his body and his mind are at odds. The smell of Mr. Snart is enough to trigger that _want_ , that _need_ , that ache to have Mr. Snart’s hands and mouth all over him, even as his mind screams at him. Even as the tears pour down his face at the other man’s betrayal.

 

How could Ray be so _stupid_ to fall for someone who showed him exactly the type of man he is, on their very first night together. Mr. Snart had shot a man in the shoulder, for calling him a--a slur. And Ray had _joked_ , had read too deep into it, had seen a tragic backstory and used that as an excuse to fall in love.

 

Mr. Snart is a criminal, a thief, a liar, and Ray had fallen for him. And Ray had gotten just what he deserved for it--a broken heart, agony, regret.

 

Mr. Thawne was right, to tell Ray. It was an act of kindness, really, Ray tells himself, that Mr. Thawne had been able to pull Ray out before he got in too deep. If things had continued, if Ray had kept lying to himself that Mr. Snart could be good, could be soft and kind and _sweet_ , things could have been a lot worse.

 

‘No,’ his body screams at him, ‘he made you breakfast! He let you fall asleep on him, on his couch! He hugged you back this morning!’

 

_That doesn’t mean anything_ , Ray tells his idiotic body, _anyone would have done that. I’m not special, I’m not someone people change for. I’m worthless. It was wrong to think otherwise, to think that I could be anything more for anyone. I’m just a pet, just a body, to use and discard. I’m nothing._

 

_I’m nothing_ , Ray thinks, taking deep gasping breaths as his tears dry up. _I’m nothing_ , Ray thinks as he strips out of his clothes and tosses them unceremoniously in his laundry basket, even if he can’t afford to do laundry right now, even if he can’t afford to not wear them again. _I’m nothing_ , Ray thinks, as he changes into his pajamas and puts his cap back on.

 

_I’m nothing_ , he thinks, starting up his favorite video game and sinking into it, trying to block out all the thoughts of Mr. Snart, all the thoughts of where he usually is at this time. As he tries to block out the memory--all the memories--of Mr. Snart on top of him, pressing soft kisses against the side of his neck with ragged gasps as he thrusts in.

 

_I’m nothing_ , he thinks, trying not to remember how Mr. Snart checked in with him, every time they had sex. “Do you like this?” he’d ask. “Is this good, Raymond?” he’d ask. “What do you want me to do?” he’d ask. “How does this _feel_ , gorgeous?” he’d ask, in that smooth voice that always made Ray shiver.

 

_It feels like hell_ , Ray thinks, shooting at and missing an alien in his game. _It feels like I want to fall into a coma and never wake up_ , he thinks.

 

But he still gets up in the morning, still goes to work. He’s got bills to pay, after all.

 

A few days after Ray had learned about Mr. Snart being a _client_ , Mr. Thawne calls Ray into his office.

 

“Raymond,” Mr. Thawne starts, “I hear you and Leonard have ended your arrangement.”

 

Ray gulps. He’d been dreading this, but he has an answer prepared. “Yes, sir. _He_ ended it. Mr. Snart no longer wants me.” _I want you willing or not at all_. It’s almost the same thing.

 

“Did he, now?” Mr. Thawne asks, and Ray can hear the amusement in his voice. “Well, that’s all for the better. I was only lending you to him, anyway. I’m glad he came to his senses and realized what a useless creature you are. Good, good.” Mr. Thawne leans over where he’d sat Ray down in a chair, looming. “Don’t forget,” he mutters into Ray’s ear, “you’re mine.”

 

“I’m yours,” Ray repeats dutifully, and he’s proud of the fact that his voice doesn’t crack, doesn’t shake. It sounds a bit dull, a bit flat to his ears, but Mr. Thawne wouldn’t want Ray to sound in any way positive about it, so he guesses it’s okay.

 

_I want you willing or not at all,_ Ray thinks, and wishes he was still willing.

 

* * *

 

Ray becomes a ghost, a shadow, an echo.

 

Oh, he pretends. He pretends to smile at the other employees, pretends to smile when someone asks him to clean up a chemical spill or unclog a toilet. His facial muscles remember how it feels--smiling--so it’s easy, really. If he keeps it up, he can stay broken and nobody will ever know the difference.

 

Not that anybody but Mr. Thawne cares.

 

Anyway, Mr. Thawne prefers him broken. That way, he can enjoy his games more. Ray aims to please.

 

Days pass in a haze. Ray is drowning--he feels all turned around and flipped on his head, like he’s doing a handstand in a slow-rising flood. He stops caring about anything but getting to work on time, on doing his job, on staying alive. And sometimes, even that last one falls by the wayside.

 

He remembers to eat only because he always feels empty. He showers only because Mr. Thawne will use it as an excuse to punish him if he doesn’t. He sleeps only because he never feels fully awake.

 

He stops bothering to change out of his coveralls, out of the ratty t-shirt and jeans he wears underneath, and his cap now never leaves his head. He hides in the anonymity his work clothes provide; in the fact that wearing them makes him invisible, makes people’s eyes glaze right past him on the street. It makes things easier, not having to meet anyone’s eyes when he’s not on the clock. Not having to interact with people who don’t need something from him.

 

Nothing gives him pleasure anymore. He doesn’t listen to music when he’s working, because honestly, what’s the point? He’s been caught off-guard too many times while he’s been wearing his headphones anyway, so it’s better this way. This way he can be more aware of his surroundings, he can know when he needs to put his lifelike expression on, when he needs to fake feeling human.

 

Ray sinks down so deep that his subconscious takes over.

 

So he becomes a ghost, running purely on instinct, and he feels...nothing. Empty. Alone.

 

After a few weeks, he notices that he’s been pocketing things from the lab. Bits of metal, tools, bits and pieces of machinery. He spreads them out on his table, staring at them in a trance-like state, and starts fiddling with them. He has no idea what he’s doing, and he’s sure Mr. Thawne would be very displeased with him for taking any of the things he’s taken, but he’s too out of it to really care.

 

It’s not like Ray cares about his own life anymore, so he’s not too worried about what Mr. Thawne will do if he finds out.

 

_When_ he finds out.

 

* * *

 

Once Len calms down slightly, he heads back to Mick’s place.

 

“I take it you freaked out,” Mick says from the couch when Len barges through the door. “Otherwise you’d be fucking his brains out right about now.”

 

“ _I_ didn’t freak,” Len says, glaring at the back of Mick’s head as he stalks into the kitchen and grabs a beer. “Fucking Thawne stuck his grubby hands in and fucked it all up.”

 

Mick winces. “Shit, he did?”

 

Len grunts in acknowledgement, upending the beer and chugging it down.

 

“Hey, dumbass,” Mick says, turning to look over the back of the couch, “you’re not crashing here if you get too wasted to drive. I ain’t carting your pathetic ass back to your own bed.”

 

Len wipes his mouth and tosses the bottle into the recycling. “That would be hard to do, considering my bed is currently a block of ice.”

 

“Shit, this is really hittin’ you hard, boss,” Mick says, and Len thinks he might detect a hint of worry in his friend’s voice.

 

“Yeah, well, I wouldn’t be in this situation if it wasn’t for you, _Mick_.” Len turns and leans against the door jamb, glaring. “ _You_ caused this.”

 

“Me?” Mick asks, squirming. “I just told you about him, you didn’t hafta go an’ sleep with him. Not my fault you decided to go after him, not my fault you _fell for_ \--”

 

“It is,” Len says, cutting him off, “because you _knew_.” He stalks forward, his hand on the grip of his cold gun. “You knew I’d develop feelings, you knew he’d be irresistible, and my question is _why_? What did you have to gain from that?”

 

Mick stands, holding his ground, but doesn’t reach for his heat gun. “Why d’you think I wanted to gain anything, Snart? Maybe I just wanted you to be happy.”

 

“ _Happy_?!” Len shouts. “Do I seem like I’m fucking _happy_ about this, Mick?!”

 

Mick shakes his head.

 

“Because I’m not, I’m fucking _miserable_ , I’ve got _feelings_ and now Raymond can’t even _look_ at me and he _flinched_ when I touched him, Mick, _flinched_! Like--”

 

“Like you an’ Lewis?” Mick asks, when Len can’t finish the sentence, when he stands there panting.

 

“Yeah.” Yeah, _fuck_.

 

Fuck, it had been Len’s worst nightmare, come to life--the nightmare he’s had where he watches himself turn slowly into his father, on a loop in his head. It was his worst fear played out in real time--with Raymond playing the role of the abused, and Len playing the role of the abuser.

 

It hits him, feeling like lead pooling in his stomach. He wants to throw up. He wants to scream. He wants to punch Mick for leading him down this path.

 

He wants _Raymond_.

 

God, he wants Raymond so bad. But he’d meant it--if Raymond isn’t willing, Len would rather die than fuck him. And Raymond had stopped being willing the second Thawne did...whatever it is he did. Len is still unclear on that, still hazy on the details.

 

He values his life slightly too much to go after Thawne half-cocked, especially now that he’s already lost Raymond. There’s nothing to gain from going in without a plan, since it still won’t get Raymond back. It still won’t get Raymond back into his bed, into his arms, into his life.

 

So, what next?

 

Len pulls his cold gun, and Mick finally reaches for his own gun. Instead of aiming at Mick, though, Len aims at the television set and shoots, freezing it into a solid block.

 

“What the fuck, Snart?” Mick asks, sounding more disgusted than anything. “Seriously?”

 

Len shrugs. “You fuck with my entertainment, I fuck with yours.”

 

Mick gives him an incredulous look. “Your _entertainment_ , Snart? Are you fucking kidding me? Don’t forget that you came here _this fucking morning_ whining about your goddamn feelings for him.”

 

“I never treated him as anything more, so let’s not _pretend_ that I didn’t deserve this. I had this coming--” Len pauses, feeling the emotions welling up. He takes a deep breath, forcing them down. “I deserved this from the second I figured out that Thawne was abusing him and I said nothing. I did nothing. This is on me.” He meets Mick’s eyes. “And you.”

 

“Hey,” Mick protests, “I didn’t know Thawne was abusing him, are you serious?”

 

“Yeah,” Len says. “Raymond was always covered in bruises, cuts--some that turned into scars. Thawne sees him as a toy, as a _pet_ ,” Len spits the word out as if it’s rotten in his mouth.

 

“Damn,” Mick says, rubbing the back of his neck. “And you didn’t do anything?”

 

“What could I do, Mick?” Len asks. “What _can_ I do? He’s a goddamn speedster, he’s always ten steps ahead of _me_ , which hasn’t happened to me, well, _ever_. I can’t win with him, not unless I have a flawless plan. And even then, I’m still taking a huge risk. I could lose everything.”

 

“You already lost Haircut,” Mick reminds him.

 

“I _fucking know that_ , Mick,” Len snarls. “I’d rather not lose my life at the same time.”

 

This is going nowhere. Len doesn’t feel any better than when he stormed in, and he thinks he actually feels worse. He’s not sure he can keep pushing down his rage, not sure he can stay ice. He wants to rage, to destroy, to _burn_. Len has never felt like this before, never felt _this_ type of anger.

 

But nobody has ever made him feel the same way as Raymond makes him feel. No, _made_ him feel--Len needs to forget that feeling. He needs to bury it deep, needs to push and push and push it down until there’s nothing left of it but the lingering taste of Raymond on his tongue.

 

_Feelings_ are for the weak. And Leonard Snart will never be fucking weak. Never again. Not for anyone. He’ll be strong, for himself, for Lisa. It was stupid, letting someone get so close. He’d let his guard down, and he’s paying the price for it now.

 

No matter that Raymond looked at him the way nobody else ever had. No matter that Raymond trusted him, the way nobody else ever had. No fucking matter that Raymond felt like heaven under his fingertips, that the taste of Raymond reminded him of the turn of the season--of the coming of spring.

 

None of that matters. Not now. Not ever.

 

Leonard Snart is ice. He’s Captain _fucking_ Cold, and he will live up to that name.

 

Even if it kills him.

 

* * *

 

Len wants to bang his head against the wall. He’s getting nowhere with planning; he keeps hitting a wall at every turn. The frustration is eating him alive--he’d started his _arrangement_ with Raymond to combat that restlessness he’d felt and, now that that’s over, he’s antsy again.

 

What he really needs is a good _heist_ to get the juices flowing in his brain again. Something to distract him, so he can think again. He just needs something to get him focused again.

 

Anything so he stops waking up in the middle of the night to dreams of Raymond underneath him, panting and gasping his name, affection clear in those ridiculously large eyes.

 

Because, god, he just can’t get Raymond out of his head. He can’t stop remembering, not just all the (amazing) sex, but the times they’d spent together outside of that. Especially their movie night--their last night together. The movie night, and the morning after. The _hug_ \--the hug that Len can’t stop thinking about, can’t stop dreaming about, can’t stop _aching for_.

 

It’s not just that his body craves Raymond in a sexual way, although there’s plenty of that, it’s also that he craves Raymond with everything he has. His mind, his body...his heart. Everything he has is just screaming out for Raymond.

 

Len lets out a groan of frustration, chucking the notebook he’d been scribbling down ideas into against the wall.

 

He’d followed Raymond home, a few weeks back. It was a moment of weakness, of desperation. He’d just wanted to _check in_. It had been all too easy--wait a few blocks away from S.T.A.R. Labs on the most likely route to the train station, watch as Raymond walks past in a haze, follow him down into the subway, onto the train. Then keep following him--out of the train to the bus stop.

 

That was the most difficult point for Len to stay hidden, with only a small handful of people in between them, and making sure to keep his face obscured under the brim of the hat he’d donned for this adventure. His normal black clothes were left behind, replaced with ratty blue jeans and a flannel, to look as different as possible from his usual self.

 

But he’s not a master thief for nothing. He’d successfully avoided Raymond’s gaze. He wishes he’d been able to be prouder of that, but he realized halfway through following Raymond that he could have probably just gone in his normal clothes and without anything to hide his face and the other man wouldn’t have seen him, being so lost in his own mind.

 

No longer was Raymond alert, bubbly, his eyes full of life and light. Instead, he reminded Len of a zombie: shambling through the train station, onto the bus, up his street. Len felt the weight of it settle in his chest: guilt and frustration mixing with the still-lingering affection that Len just couldn’t quite push down far enough to ignore.

 

He still can’t. Especially not after he’d seen where Raymond _lives_. God, how did he ever let Raymond leave, how did he ever let Raymond go home to _this_? Len was glad he’d thought to carry a gun, with the neighborhood that Raymond lives in, but Raymond doesn’t have a gun.

 

Len’s only consolation is that Raymond’s size makes him a less likely target; he’s _huge_ , and Len personally would think twice about trying to rob someone that large, so he assumes that people in the area would as well.

 

Hopes, more like.

 

He’d trailed behind as Raymond walked up the hill to his apartment building, and Len had felt sick as he’d watched Raymond turn the key in the door of the most decrepit building on the block. The whole thing looked likely to collapse at any moment: paint peeling, windows smashed and fixed with big streaks of silver duct tape and the black and white of newsprint, cracks showing through all throughout the exterior walls. The smell of mold had filled the air and, god, Len had to put his hand over his mouth to keep his dinner down.

 

He’d turned and half-run away, at that point. He couldn’t bear to break in, couldn’t handle seeing Raymond’s actual apartment.

 

Len had gone to a greasy pizza shop a few blocks down and called his driver to pick him up. As he choked down the cardboard-like pizza he’d ordered while waiting for his driver to arrive, he’d catalogued every single one of his regrets.

 

He regretted not finding out more about Raymond, not learning about his living situation.

 

He regretting never saying anything about Thawne, never saying that he knew, never offering to help.

 

He regretted ever letting Raymond leave.

 

He was full of regret, he still is. It’s been a few weeks and he can’t get it out of his head, still sometimes smells the mold, thick and sharp, coating the insides of his nose.

 

If he’d known, he would have done something, right?

 

Right?

 

Len can’t even lie to himself about that. No. No, no, no, he wouldn’t have. He wouldn’t have asked Raymond to stay, to... _move in_ , essentially. He would have let it continue, just like he let Thawne’s abuse continue, and he hates himself all the more for it.

 

Even if he’d asked Raymond to _move in_ , Len wouldn’t have been able to provide what the other man most likely wanted. It was never going to be a true relationship; they were never going to get married, go on a honeymoon, adopt two and a half kids and move out to the suburbs for a white picket fence and a dream.

 

Len’s not cut out for that. He’s made for thieving, for lying, for destroying.

 

Raymond deserves someone who can give him a normal life, with light and laughter and joy. Len might not be able to provide that, but at least he can kill Thawne, give Raymond the chance.

 

Speaking of thieving...Len pulls out his phone, dialing Mick.

 

“What?” Mick asks, sounding wary. The two of them are still slightly at odds; Len is still mad at Mick, and Mick is still, well, who knows. He’s pissy and standoffish.

 

“How do you feel about _diamonds_? I’m planning a heist, you in?”

 

Mick sighs. “You know I am.”

 

“Good,” Len replies, ideas slotting neatly into place in his head. “Come over, let’s get to work.”

 

* * *

 

The worst part about all of this is that Mick really does only have himself to blame. He’d needed Snart out of his way so he could figure out what to do--not that he’s gotten anything actually figured out. There are too many things in play, too much to keep track of.

 

Mick’s not an idiot, but he’s better at planning things with fewer variables. This time he has Snart, Thawne, Merlyn, and Darhk to think about, to watch out for, plus none of the Legends to help him.

 

Not that he even knows what he wants to accomplish, let alone _how_.

 

So he goes along with Snart’s heist like nothing’s wrong. Snart doesn’t even mention Haircut, but his timing is off, just a bit, and Mick knows he’s still a wreck. It hurts, to see his friend like this; to see his usually meticulous friend plan a heist that’s as reckless as a rookie’s plan would be.

 

But, then again, the cops stand down and let them walk off with the stash, so maybe Snart needs the recklessness to counteract the fact that there are no consequences anymore.

 

Then they get _summoned_ by Thawne, and Mick can see the coiled fury in his partner, all the way through dropping off their stash to when they get to Thawne’s office in S.T.A.R. Labs.

 

Snart pauses before they enter the building to gather himself. Mick wants to lay a reassuring hand on his shoulder, but knows it will just be brushed off. He can’t help but notice, though, that Snart’s eyes flick around as they walk through the corridors--looking for a certain janitor, perhaps?

 

Mick half hopes they run into Haircut, half hopes they don’t. He’s not sure what it would do to Snart’s tenuous hold on his anger. Seeing Thawne is going to be bad enough.

 

And, of course, everything goes to shit immediately when Nate rushes in, spewing shit about scars in the fabric of reality.

 

“Fix it,” Thawne says, about Pretty, and Snart draws his weapon. Mick isn’t sure for a second if Snart is just going to snap and aim at Thawne, but the moment passes and they’re walking Pretty outside, down to a secluded location.

 

Mick’s mind is whirling. He can’t let Snart kill Nate, he just _can’t_. The guilt eats at him--this is another thing that’s all his fault. He did this, he caused this, and now he has to fix it.

 

There’s only one thing to do--he knocks his friend, his partner out cold.

 

“Sorry, buddy. I owed you that,” he says, and means it. Snart is getting in his own way, and Mick just needs to...fix everything. Fix this.

 

And soon.

 

* * *

 

Ray’s finally starting to feel kind of okay again. It’s been a few months, a few months of wallowing and agony and building up a backlog of bruises again, but he’s settled back into the loneliness.

 

Things are starting to get back to normal. That is, if normal includes a constantly-throbbing heart and an ache for someone he should hate, someone he should never want to see again. Ray’s new normal does include those things, apparently.

 

At least he’s no longer lost so deep in his own mind, no longer just running on instinct. He’d built--he’s not sure, some kind of gun? It glows purple, and he’s not sure where in the depths of his mind it came from, but he knows it’s about memories.

 

He thinks it undoes memories.

 

Sometimes he picks it up, points it at himself, imagines pulling the trigger. Imagines what it would do, to have all the memories of Mr. Snart out of his head. To not remember, still clear as day, how the man tasted. How he smelled. The feeling of his skin, his soft body pressed against Ray’s.

 

Ray would love to get off to the idea of _anything else_ , any _one_ else but, late at night, all he can think about is--is _Len_.

 

He wants to get rid of the memories, but he’s still not a hundred percent sure that’s what the gun would do. Maybe it would kill him--maybe it would wipe everything, leave him mindless. Better to keep it hidden under a cloth, out of sight but unfortunately not out of mind.

 

That is, until the two strangers barge into his apartment, spouting stuff about how reality is wrong. Everything starts to click into place; the ache under his skin, the energy humming just out of reach--maybe the world is wrong, and that’s why bad things keep happening to Ray.

 

Maybe, just maybe, there’s a light at the end of the tunnel.

 

And then the big one points the gun at him--the gun that doesn’t do what he’d thought it would do--doesn’t even let him count to three, and the world turns upside down.

 

Oh.

 

Oh, god.

 

He’s Ray Palmer.

 

He’s the ATOM.

 

He’s a Legend.

 

He let Eobard Thawne abuse him for the better part of a year.

 

He slept with Leonard Snart.

 

He fell in love with _Leonard Snart_.

 

He lost Leonard Snart, again.

 

God, he lost Leonard, again.

 

And Mick...Mick is standing there, and he had to know, _had to_. He knew, he knew that Ray and Leonard were sleeping together, he knew and he didn’t do anything about it.

 

So he punches Mick, right in the face.

 

“I deserved that.”

 

“Damn straight you did,” Ray responds.

 

His mind is moving so fast he can barely keep up; everything is piling up, all his memories are filling back in, and he feels so lost. He complains about having to clean toilets because it’s easier, because Nate doesn’t need to know that Ray loved and lost Leonard Snart for the second time. He wraps himself back up in his coveralls--for comfort. Because they weren’t what Leonard saw him in, because they help him hide.

 

Oh, god, _Leonard_.

 

This is a Leonard who never knew Ray, who never teased him, who never called him Boy Scout, who never died for the team. He was cold and harsh, and yet soft and gentle at the same time. If Ray thought he ached for Leonard before, it’s nothing compared to how he aches now that he has his memories back. Now that he knows the type of person Leonard can really, truly be.

 

If loving a younger, colder version of Leonard felt that good, Ray can only imagine what it would have been like to love the older version--the version that Ray was only starting to fall for, before the explosion.

 

Before Leonard died.

 

Because now, Ray doesn’t just know the type of person Leonard can be--he also knows the taste of Leonard on his tongue. He knows the look in Leonard’s eyes when Ray makes him laugh, the way he kisses. His smell is etched into Ray’s brain, minty and musky, and Ray aches, he _aches_.

 

And then Sara and Amaya walk in, and all thoughts of Leonard go out the window.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this is literally just almost 8k of pain. I _promise_ things are going to look up, eventually, slightly. A bit. We're working on it. We don't want to leave you with pain but, uh, I'm gonna leave you with this pain, right now. Sorry. -Sarah

**Author's Note:**

> scream w us on tumblr  
> [Sarah](http://snartbaiting.tumblr.com)  
> [Ruth](http://ruthc93.tumblr.com)


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